


Retrospect

by sifshadowheart



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asami/Mikhail/Feilong ARE warnings, BAMF Takaba Akihito, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Controlling and Possessive Behavior, Dom Asami, Dom Mikhail, Fix-It, Flexible Switch Fei, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Lets Give Characters Backstories Shall We?, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Second Chances, Submissive Switch Akihito, Switch Akihito, Switch Mikhail but not for Asami, Temporary Character Death, Top Asami, Top Mikhail, Unsafe Sex, Wire-Tapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-02 00:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17877803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: February 1, 2012; Tokyo, JapanIn a one-room rundown studio apartment, a twenty-three-year-old young half-Japanese man took a deep breath and then shocked awake, eyes flying open with one word on his breath:“Asami!”...WARNINGS FOR: A/U; Canon-Typical Behavior & Violence; References to Rape that occurs in Canon;  Slash; Asami being Asami; Feilong being Feilong; Mikhail being Mikhail





	1. Chapter 1

** Retrospect  **

_A Finder Series Fanfiction_

By Sif Shadowheart

Disclaimer:  The “Finder” series manga and anime and respective characters belong to Yamane Ayano.

_“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been.”_

_― Kurt Vonnegut_

**Warning!   This fic contains the following:  Slash, Graphic Depictions of Violence, NSFW Content, Mentions of Past Rape**

**Chapter One: Reality**

_October 31, 2017; Tokyo, Japan_

If someone had asked Takaba Akihito five years ago if he thought he’d survive five years as the lover of Asami Ryuichi he’d have laughed his _ass_ off.

For one, five years ago he’d only had a couple of, er, _confrontations_ with Asami including their second – brutal – meeting where Asami had restrained, drugged, and raped him for three days.

It was something like Stockholm Syndrome that’d taken over him in those first days – that first _year_ really.

He’d run into Asami somewhere innocuous – a hotel, a restaurant, etc. – then Asami would show up at his apartment and coerce him into sex, overriding any of Akihito’s objections, and taking what he wanted from him.

Whether his body learned to enjoy it eventually or not, forming an attachment – fuck, an _addition_ – to Asami that didn’t change what it was – rape.

Asami could be brutal or gentle, sadistic or affectionate, and everything in between.

One thing he _never_ was, however, was turned down.

Except by Akihito, which in hindsight had _definitely_ spurred on the initial attraction for Asami that became an obsession that became…something Akihito still couldn’t put a label on five years down the line.

For that first year there was nothing Akihito wanted more than to fade from Asami’s attention – to escape – _except_ to finally catch the bastard and get one over on him.

To beat him.

Then Liu Feilong happened, and Hong Kong, and everything and that…that changed everything.

Akihito found himself if not _forgiving_ or even forgetting what Asami had done to him but, perhaps, reframing it in his head to keep going, keep surviving after Asami saved him from the possibility of a future that could’ve been _so much worse_ if crazy Yuri Arbatov had gotten his way.

At this point, Akihito was certain that his brain was permanently fucked over.

He supposed when you’ve been raped by two crimelords, fucked by a third, and coerced into sex acts by a fourth – wannabe skeeze that _that_ shit stain had been – what you considered acceptable behavior tended to change.  He’d started to _like_ and even appreciate Asami’s dark side when it saved him from Arbatov.  He’d been _touched_ when Feilong showed just how lonely he was.  And Mikhail…he couldn’t even begin to understand what he felt for Mikhail.

Of the three crimelords who’d been in his bed, Mikhail was the only one who hadn’t forced his way there or drugged him or coerced him in some way.

He hadn’t exactly been _invited_ and even four years later Asami would kill them both for it – whether they’d been together at that point or not as he and Asami had gone through more than one period where they’d not spoken or texted a _word_ to each other the first two years they’d orbited each other – but the fact remained that by the time he’d met Mikhail in a situation where he wasn’t controlled or considered the _fucking property_ of either Asami or Feilong his standards for lovers had drastically been revamped and it hadn’t taken Mikhail with his flashing blue eyes and devilish smile much work to talk his way into Akihito’s pants.

Akihito had started living with Asami full-time three years ago, not long after he’d returned from his work trip where he’d run into Mikhail, and while things he’d been _perfect,_ they’d at least been good.

Sure, there were more guns in his life than before he’d met Asami and a _lot_ more blood but half the time that was from his work as an investigative photographer and not Asami’s “business.”

They fought, they made up.

Often with a trip to their “private room” where Asami tied him up and spanked, caned, or flogged him until he was a teary mess, but since Akihito had come to crave that part of their sex life as much as Asami did he didn’t complain in the least.

It was a fucked-up relationship that half the time he wasn’t certain deserved the appellation but it was theirs and they made it work.

Five years, three lovers, two rapists, one molester, dozens of dangerous situations, two serious abductions, and more bodies than he’d like to think about: and it all led him here.

Staring down a gun barrel in a dark, dank alleyway held in the shaking hand of some dumb-fuck addict as the tweaker freaked out as Akihito fell to the trash-strewn ground and started bleeding out.

All of it: everything he survived, and _this_ fuckhead was what – or who – was going to kill him?

Akihito held in the urge to burst into laughter.

Half out of pain – yeah, the druggie had _shit_ aim and didn’t even manage to kill him properly, hitting too close to center and shattering his sternum – and half out of his sense of humor that had steadily darkened alongside his moral compass the longer he was in Asami’s orbit.

The irony was _ridiculous_.

Asami was going to go on a fucking _rampage_.

The pain wasn’t that bad anymore, which he knew was a bad sign, and his vision – and head – started to fuzz out as the druggie snatched up his camera bag and legged it.

He could see the twelfth page line now: _photographer gunned down in mugging_.

Even with his position at the _Times_ it _could_ only be twelfth page.

Asami’s brutal tear through the Tokyo underbelly in search of the dumb fuck that killed him was going to take up pages one through eleven as the bodies started to drop.

He almost felt sorry for the druggie – almost.

What Asami was sure to do to him wouldn’t be pretty.

_Threats_ to his life had ended in bodies, actually killing him?

Yeah…druggie had better overdose on whatever his drug of choice was before Asami found him or he wouldn’t be given such a pleasant end as a bullet to the brain.

He supposed, in the end, dying in an alley somewhere wasn’t that surprising considering how many times he’d had a gun shoved in his face and the number of alleys he’d haunted over his career searching for the ultimate shot or the best dirt on some scumbag.

The pain wasn’t a shock either.

No, he’d been shot before – more than once actually.

It was the cold and the dark that bothered him.

Right up until it didn’t.

…

It was a small gathering.

Attended mostly by a handful of photographers and reporters from the _Times_ , all of whom had signed non-disclosure agreements before they were allowed into the funeral home holding the wake.

The reason was easy to see if you knew what you were looking for: a trio of men who nearly _radiated_ menace all grouped together and standing around the urn holding the ashes of a bright and beautiful young man.

One was darkly handsome with flashing golden eyes.

One so beautiful it was almost otherworldly with shining black hair left to tumble down his back to his ass.

And the last taller by a few inches than his compatriots with pale golden hair and icy blue eyes.

More than one reporter and photographer cursed the air-tight NDA from heaven to hell.

They hadn’t questioned it: everyone knew who Takaba’s lover is… _was_ , had been.

With his golden eyes, Asami Ryuichi was impossible to mistake and the press had assumed – wrongfully – that it was for the businessman’s privacy that no pictures of him mourning his lover of several years were to be taken at the wake.

Man, were they _wrong_ and kicking themselves.

Because the other two men: Liu Feilong with his infamous hair and Mikhail Arbatov were what Asami was only _rumored_ to be: leaders of infamous crime syndicates and talking – albeit _quietly_ – with Takaba’s lover who’d been left to mourn him.

And worst for the handcuffed press corps – talking _familiarly_ with the business mogul.

Each had a bottle before him and a shot glass, steadily taking shots and saying quiet remembrances of the vibrant young man that all three – somehow – had known.

Sometimes enemies, sometimes partners, thanks to Takaba they’d found mutual – if contentious – ground over the last several years.

He had a way to just…draw them in with his bright spirit that even Sakazaki – that fucker – hadn’t managed to kill.

No, in the end it had been an addict that Asami _still_ had strung up in one of his warehouses – where the cretin would live in pain for a _long, long time_ – that had managed it in the end.

It was the greatest injustice any of them had ever seen.

Akihito had survived _them_.

How could he have been snuffed out by a simple lowlife scrounging for his next fix?

“It was his stupid fucking grin.”  Mikhail finally broke the silence between the three dangerous – perhaps the most dangerous in the world – men.  “He’d been kidnapped, held for months, and snatched away literally with his freedom in sight, and he _still_ had the balls to shoot me a fucking _fuck-you-asshole_ grin.”

“He stuck his tongue out at me.”  The words were nearly _torn_ from Ryuichi’s throat as Mikhail downed his third shot of vodka, the first two rounds taken in utter silence between the three men who were grieving, deeply, no matter the façade of uncaring coldness they had to put up around everyone else.  “He’d broken Suoh’s hold, managed to run from all three of us, was hanging from a _sign_ , and stuck his tongue out at me as he let go and ran off none the worse for wear except a sprained pinky finger.”

“Being around him was like trying to tame the sun.”  Feilong said wistfully, dark eyes focused on something no other could see – though his drinking companions could likely guess at.  “He drew you in with his warmth and sheer _brightness_ but holding too tight would only burn you.”

Mikhail held out his shot, joined by the others as they clinked glasses.

“To Akihito.”

_“Akihito_.”

“May that fucker never meet us on the other side.”  Mikhail joked, even as Asami clenched his jaw so tight before taking his shot the Russian feared for the Japanese’s caps breaking.  “God know us depraved bastards have no place in an afterlife that includes him.”

Glass clinked and three shots were tossed back, not a muscle twitching despite the burn.

After all, compared to the burning grief that was a living, roaring thing with claws and teeth demanding blood and death and _pain_ , what was vodka or whiskey or anything else?

…

“You never told him, did you?”  Feilong finally asked the question that had been _burning_ at him as the three crimelords adjourned from the wake – leaving more than one reporter marveling at their alcohol tolerance behind them – for another venue entirely.

One that had a strung-up addict that could do little more than whimper and cry out for mercy that would never come under their knives and fists and whips.

Asami kept a medic there around the clock for the strict purpose of keeping the bastard alive.

A target for the rage that never faltered and never weakened let along _stopped_ since the moment the words came out of his second’s – and closest friend’s mouth – _Takaba has been killed_.

His lover – his _partner_ – deserved more than bleeding out, _alone and cold_ , in some dank alley.

He was supposed to outlive him, outlive _them all_ , and die sometime far in the future as an old man in a warm bed.

Not be gunned down for a couple thousand dollars’ worth of camera equipment and the credit card Asami insisted he carry in case of emergency.

“No.”  The word was as broken as Asami himself.  Akihito had taken the rest of him to the grave.  All that was let was a shallow, broken version of himself who only lived to take his revenge on the piece of filth hanging in chains from the warehouse rafters.  Nothing more.  “I never did.”

“Fuck, Asami.”  Mikhail whistled, shaking his head.  “Five _years_ , the last three straight exclusive, and you never told him _once_ that you loved him?”  Mikhail was impressed – and devastated for Akihito.

Poor fucking kid.

He’d been so damn tangled up in Asami he could barely tell up from down, a mess of love, fear, pain, hope, and more things he didn’t even know if Akihito would’ve been able to name them, and Asami had never even ballsed-up to confess to him.

Asami had always been a cold fucking bastard.

But _that_ …that was on a whole new level.

“I didn’t think I needed to.”  Asami admitted, even as his rage broke loose a moment and had his fist slammed into the druggie’s ribs, feeling the satisfying _snap_ and hearing the scream that came with bones breaking like matchsticks.  “I gave up the deed to the casino in Macau for him.  Moved him in.  Protected him.”

What were three words compared to _that_?

Especially for men like them.

“Maybe so.”  Feilong sighed, pursing his lips.  “Maybe not.  Still it leaves an… _unfinished_ air to the thing.”

Even _he’d_ asked Akihito to stay with him in the end.

From what he knew, what Akihito had told him, Asami had never even done _that_ much preferring action over words.

“He wasn’t raised like us.”  Feilong continued, waving an airy hand.  “He didn’t see things the same, didn’t want or need the same things.  He might not have known…”

“Nah.”  Mikhail disagreed, giving a _bit_ of hope to Asami.  “You might’ve been right in the beginning, Fei, but by the time he went back to this asshole the last time,” he jerked a thumb to the darkly brooding – and mourning – figure of their Japanese counterpart.  “He damn well knew.”

“How do you know?”  Fei tilted his head, long braid – to keep blood and other things out of his hair – falling to one side.

Mikhail shrugged.  “He told me when I asked him to go back to Russia with me.”

Fei clicked his tongue warningly, shooting his friend a _look_ over bringing up such a thing in front of Asami.

If he didn’t know better he’d say the crazy Russian had a death wish.

Asami gave a dark laugh that had zero humor in it.

“Don’t worry for Mikhail’s head, Fei.”  Asami told him, flexing one fist.  “I already knew about his little… _tryst_ in Macau with Akihito.”  He snorted at the surprised looks that revelation got him from the others.  “I never lost sight of him – not for a _moment_ – after I got him back from Hong Kong.  Of course I knew.  Just like I knew he’d come back to me once he’d straightened his head out.”

“And fucked up my business in Japan for the next six months.”  Mikhail muttered.  “Which was just _petty_ when he went back to you in the end anyway.”

“You still _tried_.”  Asami snarled at the Russian.  “And you had to pay for it.  Be grateful Kirishima convinced me that having your idiot cousin take over would be bad for business or else I would’ve _fucking killed you_ for putting hands on what was mine.”

“We all loved him.”  Mikhail said, completely unrepentant – especially now.  “As much as we could and in our own ways.”

“Doesn’t change what we did to him.”  Feilong sighed.  “ _Might have beens_ are as useless now as they’ve ever been.”

…

_February 1, 2012; Tokyo, Japan_

In a one-room rundown studio apartment, a twenty-three-year-old young Japanese took a deep breath and then shocked awake, eyes flying open with one word on his breath:

_“Asami!”_


	2. Chapter 2

** Retrospect **

_“I have no desire to suffer twice, in reality and then in retrospect.”_

_― Sophocles, Oedipus Rex_

**Chapter Two: Might Have Been**

_“Asami!”_

…

_February 1, 2012; Tokyo, Japan_

Takaba Akihito jerked upright from his supine position on the cheap futon, his left hand coming up to slap against his sternum in instinctive reflex, chest heaving and breath panting in shock.

Were he someone else, he’d think he’d been dreaming: either the gunshot wound to the chest or waking up absent it.

But for someone who’d struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder for _years_ after Hong Kong, Akihito _knew_ when he was awake and when he wasn’t.

He knew what was a nightmare or a night terror and what was reality.

And this…this _was_ reality even if he had no way to explain it.

Just like the druggie, the alleyway, and the bullet that shattered his sternum had _been_ his reality – then.

The only question that remained being: where was he _now_?

He clearly wasn’t in some kind of afterlife – unless Purgatory and Limbo really _were_ a thing and they looked like his pre-Asami and post-college studio apartment – and he was definitely awake if the slight sting that was nowhere-fucking- _close_ to the pain of a near-point-blank gunshot wound even from a shitty little cheap-ass .22 piece of garbage like the druggie had used on him.

There was another question he needed to ask, two of them really, but he was rather studiously ignoring them at that moment: _when and how_.

Honestly, short of divine intervention that he wasn’t even sure he believed in, he doubted he’d ever get an answer to the latter.

And if the last years had taught him anything it was to use his energy in ways that paid-off inside of chasing futility.

Rising unsteadily to his feet, he padded over to his cheap computer desk that held the best computer for a budding photographer that his former benefactors – again, pre-Asami and something he _still_ couldn’t believe the nosy bastard and never figured out – and found his iPhone 5, pausing a moment to wrack his brain for a password before taking a shot, then having to try twice more before he got the correct one but thankfully before it automatically locked him out for fifteen minutes, and brought up his home screen, staring at the time and date for a long, disbelieving moment.

_1 February 2012_

_0113_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_Cloudy; 15% Chance of Rain_

One thought pinged through his mind as Akihito.exe abruptly shut down:

_What the FUCK?!?!?!?!_

…

Once the perfectly-understandable (he’d _been fucking shot_ before waking up five years in the _fucking past_ ) hyperventilation passed, Akihito brought up his calendar on his phone and started doing some math trying to figure out – _something fuck anything –_ that made sense.

The sad, unavoidable truth was that so much had happened since this day five years ago that he couldn’t begin to figure out the significance.

It wasn’t the day he met Asami.

It wasn’t even the first time Asami showed up in his camera’s viewfinder.

It was just a random day.

A random day that – double-checking round of pinching to _make dead certain_ he was awake – that was now going to take on a whole new direction.

For one he had to figure out what the fuck he was going to do.

Though, he had to admit, when he wasn’t hyperventilating it was easier to think clearly than it had been in a long time and he didn’t have to wonder _why_.

His mind still had PTSD and the impulses that came with it.

His _brain_ didn’t.

_He_ had gone through dozen – lowballing the estimate – traumatizing events of various severity and impact.

His _body_ hadn’t – not yet – and if he had his way _not fucking ever_ again.

Looking back at it with the clarity provided by hindsight – poor consolation prize _that_ was – he could definitely see places where a slight change of direction, a different decision here, and bit of _give_ there, and so much bad and horrible _shit_ could have been avoided both for him personally and everyone around him.

Should, coulda, woulda – didn’t.

Didn’t _then_.

This isn’t then, however, it was _now_ and he had the biggest cheat in the universe: not just foresight but actual fore _knowledge_ and that was worth more than all of Asami’s assets combined.

He knew the players.

He knew their moves backwards and forwards.

He knew where, when, what, and sometimes even _why_ and how.

The only question that really remained once he did a double-blind check on whether his foreknowledge was worth a single Yen or whether he’d finally truly gone stark-staring-crazy was: what did he want to _do_ with it?

What did Akihito _really want_?

And, perhaps most importantly, what was he willing to do to _get it_?

He’d have to bide his time since the first _real_ event that he remembered from February five years ago was the deal with the dirty Diet member who paid off that fucker Detective Yamazaki’s debts to put Akihito in Asami’s path with the expectation that Asami would kill him.

And that…that didn’t happen – if he was right – for another week.

He couldn’t even remember clearly _when_ his contact at the _Times_ had given him the tip on that dirty scumbag but according to both his calendar and his coded and encrypted-to-hell-and-back notes he wasn’t on that track yet, just a couple small-time crooks that were little more than vague memories compared to the looming giant of Asami in his mind.

One thing he _did_ know: come hell or high water, there was _no fucking way_ anyone was going to find him a pushover or doormat this time around, even if it meant breaking his word to the only people that he’d ever promised anything to in his life: his late parents.

It would hurt something inside of him to do it.

He’d hate it.

But considering what he knew was coming – if it wasn’t all one massive paranoid delusion – if he wanted to stay _him_ and not Asami’s-pet-redux or live the rest of his life jumping at shadows afraid that some specter from that life was going to leap out from a random alley and he’d end up bleeding out again, that might just be a choice he’d have to make.

…

It was later that day after he’d spent his time sketching out what he knew – dates, events, _everything_ he could think about regarding everything and everyone from the last five years – that the missing piece _clicked_ into place.

He received a phone call from one of his contacts.

The message?

A dirty Diet member might be dabbling in human trafficking down at the docks.

The _exact_ same tip that once upon a time put him on a collision course with Asami Ryuichi and everything that came afterward.

He laughed helplessly – and a bit hysterically – until the laughter turned into hiccupping coughs then into sobs and tears.

This was happening.

It was _really_ happening.

He was in the past.  No clue how or why.  But he was.

The call was the first confirmation.

If the Detective sent him hunting after Asami once he broke the story – and, heh, he didn’t even have to bother with staking out the docks for the next week, he already knew the day and time of the deal which would serve as a minor/secondary confirmation on its own – then bingo, three for three.

He sobered a moment, a thought surfacing.

_How did the stock market work again_?

Granted, he didn’t know _that_ much about stocks and companies and all that bullshit, more concerned with keeping his head above water most of the time than the dry garbage in Asami’s boring business papers and magazines, but he picked up _some_ from just being around the haughty bastard.

Even investing just a little bit based off of what he knew would provide guaranteed returns if he was smart and his information panned out.

He’d have to look into that.

In the meantime he had some errands to run, some old contacts to talk to – even for a just-in-case capacity – and some decisions to make.

Because if what he knew he really _knew_ …there was a whole _lot_ of collateral damage that could be avoided if he took _steps_ to deal with it early…no matter how much it would hurt everyone involved.

…

Akihito spent the next two days refamiliarizing himself with everything on his computer, his current cameras, lenses, and equipment, his apartment, wardrobe, _everything_.

So much had changed since Asami came roaring into his life like a tidal wave that it was almost like wandering through a museum gawking over someone else’s life.

And yet _not_ at the same time as he’d fought tooth and nail against his domineering lover to hold onto himself.

The Akihito he’d become when the rage and grief had slowly faded away after his parents’ abrupt – and violent – deaths when he was twelve and shunted off into the system.

His mother’s family hadn’t wanted _anything_ to do with their black sheep’s mixed-race brat.

They’d washed their hands of Sophie Clarens a _long_ time before she became Sophie, mom of Akihito and wife of Hibiki, but marrying outside of their race had been the final straw that had them cutting the cord completely.

His mother, an English-rose beauty, had given him his rare natural light blond hair and green eyes that made him a bit of an oddity in Japan, and changed his bone structure just enough to curse him with permanent pretty-boy syndrome.

It was his dad, a pure Japanese photographer who’d cut ties willingly with his own family, who’d given him his tan skin, slim build, and bit-taller-than-average height.

And thank god for that, because at just shy of five-foot, his mom had been _tiny_.

She’d been a free-spirit, a rebellious wild-child.

He’d wanted a sense of normalcy that he couldn’t find in the life he’d been born into.

A name-change for one and the blessing of his family and a disinheritance for the other had ended up with Akihito in the system since one side of the family wanted jack-shit to do with him and the other _couldn’t_ openly help him without going against their own code.

What they’d done covertly though…that had made all the difference that kept Akihito from becoming another juvenile delinquent statistic.

His trust from them and the rare, covert visit from his “cousin” Jirou, had seen him through college and then he’d followed his dad’s wishes for what Hibiki had wanted for his family and taken a massive step back…which meant if he wanted to reassert contact he’d have to take to big steps forward again since even in the five years he remembered that no one else – from what he could tell since there was no Asami breaking down his apartment door or Feilong/Mikhail blowing up his phone – seemed to do they hadn’t acknowledged him in anyway even if they stood in the same room or sat around the same table.

In retrospect, obeying his father’s wishes – one of the last conversations he ever had with his dad before he died since at twelve he’d barely been old enough to understand let alone _be trusted_ with what he was being told – had been such an important part of himself that he’d clung to it like the only buoy in an ocean of blood and violence.

Even when it became crystal-clear that being involved – willingly or otherwise – with Asami had broken the spirit if not the letter of the promise he’d made to a dead man, he’d still cleaved to it above anything else.

Even his own safety.

Even his sanity and peace of mind.

It had become like a sort of North Star leading him: he’d promised his dad he’d stay clear of the _family business_ and he’d, come heaven or hell, kept it.

It could be argued since he hadn’t been armed in that alley or willing to fight back against that druggie punk, that he’d kept his word even when it _killed_ him.

Pulling in then blowing out a shaky breath he rubbed his hands over his face.

Warning, time-travel, reincarnation, reliving his past life the _hard_ way, whatever-the-fuck this was, he had a lot of hard choices piling up before him and not a single clear-cut answer to use to start clearing out the tangle of thoughts and worries and fears.

Except, for maybe one.

No matter how it’d come about or how awful the beginning, Asami – hell, even Feilong and Mikhail – had twined himself into Akihito.

Part of each other.

It was tempting – _so fucking tempting_ – to say “whew, dodged a _lot_ of fucking bullets” and avoid the shit out of Asami and everything that came with him.

But when he thought of what _that_ future looked like.

Thought of what five years from right that moment with no Asami, no Feilong or Mikhail, none of it…it was all so _grey_ and bland and drab.

Like being unable to see colors at all after years and years of the most vibrant and richest jewel tones.

Granted: one of the main ones being bright blood red.

Both in literal blood and the urgency of lust and desire coursing through his veins.

Did he _really_ want to live his life never knowing Asami’s touch _ever_ again?

He could manage it, if he really wanted to.

Where he ran into a dead-end in the thought process was that a life without Asami _also_ meant a life without Feilong or Mikhail as one inevitably led to another…and after having some of the best, most passionate lovers anyone could find in a hundred lifetimes going back to plain vanilla would be just…ugh.

Boring.

He wasn’t going to be anyone’s sex toy or punching bag…that didn’t mean he had to do without them altogether.

After all, he knew their biggest weakness, one each and every one of the too-sexy-for-their-own-good assholes shared: they all wanted what they couldn’t have.

For the three elite lords of crime, _everything_ came to them if they wanted it bad enough.

It might not come _easy_ as the number of bodies dropped between the trio was probably _literally_ incalculable, but it still came to them if they wanted it bad enough and were willing to put in the work to get it.

His defiance and unbreakable spirit had been the things that attracted them all above everything else about him from what he could tell of their behaviors or been flat-out told at various times.

That even with drugs, they couldn’t fully break him and _own_ him.

And that…that was like giving him an open invitation the size of the Grand Canyon to waltz through and fuck up their tightly controlled little underworld-boss worlds.

Best of all – and if he played his cards right he could get a little of his own back in the process.

…

An active person, there was only so much reflection and introspection Akihito could stomach, even with running a few necessary errands – like for food and to pay bills – that he couldn’t avoid while he was waiting for his secondary confirmation: the meet-up with the dirty Diet member he would be getting on his SD card if everything went down the same way he thought it would.

One thing that kinda drove him nuts with the information currently crammed in his head was that in the almost-a-year since he’d left college and stopped contact with his dad’s former family was that he’d stopped _other_ things that his cousin Jirou had started him on as well.

Like keeping up his membership at a gym that had a parkour or free-running course.

_Especially_ since that particular skill Jirou had gotten him into as a way to keep himself safe and burn off some of his temper-driven energy after his parents’ murder had saved his ass – or nearly so if he’d just been a little quicker or more aware of his surroundings – more than once.

His old membership had lapsed but with a bit of careful juggling of his budget, he scraped together the money to renew it and pay the start-up fee all over again, giving him something to do while he waited impatiently for the day of the meet-up.

Other courses of action he was considering – more drastic decision he was toying with – had to wait until afterward.

_Why-and-how_ he was in the position he was in, with five years gone in his mind that hadn’t left a mark on his body, he’d likely never know.

It was what he did _next_ that counted.

He spent an afternoon running the parkour course in the worn-in ripped jeans, faded t-shirt, and leather driving gloves he preferred during a covert shoot/stake-out, feeling an exhilaration he couldn’t believe he’d avoided for so long – though he supposed in his defense between the kinky shit he got up to with Asami and the dangerous activities both of their jobs got them into he hadn’t really _needed_ an adrenaline boost in  years.

Then the next afternoon he showed up at the gym and actually worked out, something he hadn’t done since Jirou had stopped riding his ass a year before he met Asami.

Of all the members of his father’s estranged family, his cousin and his cousin’s younger son Jirou had taken Hibiki and his wife being targeted the worst, and while Jirou’s father couldn’t do much other than set up the money that paid for Akihito’s living arrangements and education, Jirou had a freedom thanks to his status as a second-son that allowed him to keep in closer contact with Akihito without putting a bullseye on his back.

Or at least anymore of one than Akihito had slapped there all on his lonesome with his choice of career and later moving in with Asami.

Akihito had – both then and now – been glad that they’d all been so scrupulous about keeping three-degrees of separation between his father’s family and himself since he could just _imagine_ the ass-chewing Jirou would’ve given him over going through all that work to be above-board and legit only to take a fucking crime lord as his lover, however it’d come about.

Add in Feilong and Mikhail and…yeah…very much _not good_.

Working out, free-running, errands, and so on (including a bit of just-in-case research) kept him busy and _not_ totally crazy until the afternoon of the meet-up and he hauled his anxious-ass onto a nearby rooftop with his best telescopic lens and DSLR body.

And then he waited.

If he nearly had a break down when the cars pulled up _just as he knew they would_ and a thug opened a shipping container filled with human “merchandise” and he got – despite his insides rattling together like a maraca – even better shots than he had last time…there was nobody to see it except for himself and an irritating pigeon hanging out next to him.

…

That a week later when Yamazaki called him up with a “tip” regarding a deal involving one Asami Ryuichi, the CEO of Sion Corp. that no one could get dirt on, he _did_ have a panic attack and mental break down was, again, nobody’s business but his own.

…

Walking into the nondescript little bank in Yokohama, Akihito steeled himself to take the step he’d decided on – for his own safety and peace of mind if nothing else when he’d come up three-for-three.

The moment he’d walked out his front door that morning after retrieving the safe deposit box key from where he kept it hidden duct-taped inside a “broken” lens for his very first SLR camera body his dad had bought him as a twelfth birthday present, he’d known there was no going back.

Jirou would be alerted the moment he requested to be shown back to the box, his “go” stash that his paranoid older – almost twice his age in fact – cousin had set up had set up as a just-in-case safeguard.

Once that happened, it was only a matter of time – and not very long at that – before the life his father had fought tooth-and-nail to get away from came knocking again.

Akihito wouldn’t be forced to join the Yoshida Family, no.

His grandparents had taken care of that when they’d bought the “out” for their white-sheep son.

But they would, even if it was just Jirou and his father, keep an eye on him.

Smiling at the teller, Akihito passed over the id with his birth name on it instead of the identity Jirou had set up after his parents had been killed.

They’d only changed his last name, but considering how dangerous it’d been at the time to be a Yoshida in Yokohama, it had been a smart decision to make along with ensuring he was placed in a foster-home in Tokyo, far away from the Family’s territory – and enemies.

“I’d like to access safe deposit box 767, please.” He held in a smirk at what the number spelled on a keypad.  SOS.  Jirou _did_ like his puns.

The teller blinked, reviewing the names and protocols for accessing that _particular_ safe deposit box, then double-checked the young man’s identification against the list before signaling for the senior teller with the access keys to the vault over to assist him and handed back his id.

“Box 767, Ami-san.”  The teller said respectfully.  Even if the young man with his dark wash jeans and simple short-sleeved button down didn’t _look_ like much, anyone accessing one of the Yoshida boxes got the best service the bank was capable of providing.

It was just safer that way, for everyone that worked there.

A flicker of an eyelash was the only show of surprise at one of the Yoshida boxes being accessed, especially one that had been sitting untouched for several years.

“Of course, Yoshida-sama.”  Ami nodded and waved the young man through the barrier then gestured the security guard away from the vault door, opening it and ushering the young man with an empty canvas shoulder bag in hand into the secured area then through another set of locked doors into the highest security portion of the interior vault.  She quickly located the correct vault number, inserting the key and waiting for Yoshida-sama to follow suit, then prompted: “on three.  One, two, three” and they turned their keys in unison to release the mechanism on the safe deposit box.  Removing the – rather heavy for its size, which while not a _small_ box wasn’t the largest they offered either – box from the vault wall, she set it carefully on the empty table reserved for that purpose then stepped away, drawing Yoshida-sama’s attention to a call button on the wall next to the opaque security doors.  “Press here when you’re finished, Yoshida-sama, and I will return to lock the box back up.”

Snapping a crisp, polite bow, Ami bustled away after his nod and “thank you, Ami-san.”

Taking a deep breath, Akihito set the bag on the table and unzipped it, stalling a bit for time as he rested his hands gently on the closed top of the box.

Clenching his jaw as he gathered his resolve, he flipped back the concealing top a moment later, revealing the contents of his “go” stash: two 9MM Berettas that Jirou had drilled him in using over and over again when he was in high school, holsters for the small of his back and his ankle, ammunition, papers for Yoshida Akihito beyond the simple id that got him into the bank including a firearms permit, his father’s _family_ Rolex watch with his name engraved on the back his grandparents gave his father when he turned sixteen, a stack of bearer-bonds that – he swiftly counted – added up to five million yen or shy of fifty thousand dollars, and rubber-banded stacks of non-sequential yen bills – another million or so.

It wasn’t anything compared to the other “go” stashes Jirou had told him about when he got stroppy over having so much liquid resources rotting away in a bank box for his sole use, but it was all that was left of his “reparations” for his parents’ deaths as a result of _family_ business after they were supposed to be clear of it.

Death benefits or yakuza insurance some would say.

Blood money his dad would’ve called it.

With hands that were a _lot_ more familiar with guns and holsters than they were even when Jirou was actively teaching him how _not_ to be a walking target, he strapped up then stashed the cash and bonds in he empty bag, tucking his second set of ids away in the empty – fine leather, much nicer than the cheap velcro on he carried his other stuff in, his Takaba ids and cards, etc. – wallet he’d brought along for that purpose.

Picking up the watch, he held it for a long moment staring down at the mother-of-pearl face and the diamonds glinting up at him from 12, 3, 6, and 9, then set it back down in the box along with the letter he’d written in case Jirou decided to check here first before calling Akihito to find out what was going on.

Knowing his cousin, he’d check first, since while he _could_ – and likely would – jump straight to worst-case scenario thinking, his years surviving in Japan’s seedy criminal underworld would have him checking the facts of the situation before acting.

Hopefully.

Because shit would be a _lot_ easier if Jirou – who knew _way_ too many of Akihito’s tricks for his preference, or at least he used to – got the bones of the story from the carefully narrated letter he’d left behind instead of being able to listen to the tone and treble of his voice to test how truthful he was being.

And given how freaked-the-fuck-out he was over _somehow_ leap-frogging back into himself from five years in the past instead of, you know, _dying_ his ability to snow a trained and dangerous yakuza _probably_ wasn’t quite up to snuff at the moment.

Five minutes later and less than fifteen after he’d walked into the bank in the first place, Akihito was in a taxi and almost to the train station to catch the next bullet train to Tokyo, seven-figures richer and his conscience a hell of a lot heavier.


	3. Chapter 3

** Retrospect **

**_Warning!_ ** _As we get to meeting our crimelords, remember that we’re dealing with dangerous, violent, criminals who don’t pull punches, never get told no, and rarely take prisoners.  Emotions aren’t exactly their strong suits and the warning for canon-typical violence and behavior is definitely in effect from here on out though I WON’T be jumping on the rape thematic elements of the canon-events **.**_

**_Also: There’s almost nothing supplied in canon regarding the backstories of the boys so…yeah.  It left me with a lot of room to play in._ **

**Chapter Three: Predator and Prey**

“Would you like to explain this piece-of-shit letter you left for me to find, Akihito-kun?”  The gruff voice of one of the top Yoshida Family enforcers all-but- _growled_ over the phone line.  “Because it reads like a bunch of bullshit to me.”

“Which part?”  Akihito sighed, running one hand through his pale blond hair as he rocked back in his computer chair where – before his cousin had called him – he’d been doing some discrete _digging_ into a few things he couldn’t quite remember clearly.

Mainly about Detective Yamazaki because _no fucking way_ was that asshole going to almost kill him again.

Not when he knew down to the ground he was on the take and guilty as sin.

Plus, one less instance of Asami having to save his ass could only be a good thing if Akihito had _any_ interest in gaining anything close to resembling respect from the stone-cold criminal this early in the game.

Asami had been fond of calling him a _kitten_ : all hissing threats and stinging teeth and claws that could barely draw blood let alone do real damage to Japan’s golden dragon.

Too bad for him that eventually all kittens grow up: and between Jirou’s early training from twelve to twenty-two, as loose and sporadic as it was a lot of the time, and the skills he’d picked up from Asami and the rest of the criminal assholes he’d spent time with for five years, Akihito was growing into something with razor-sharp claws and a nasty fangy bite.

“Um, I don’t know Akihito-kun, how about _all of it_?”

“Hey!”  Akihito protested, hiding a smile in his voice and hoping Jirou didn’t hear it.  “I’ll have you know, Jirou-san that one of my contacts _is_ trying to fuck me over.  Hard.  Dry.  No lube.  Just a bullet with my name on it.”

“Who?”  Jirou’s voice went huffy-but-patient to stone-cold-killer in zero-point-two seconds flat.

Akihito rolled his eyes.  “Like I’m _really_ going to tell you, Jirou.”  He snorted.  “You’ll be on the first train to Tokyo and starting a pissing match with whoever runs Tokyo now,” as if he wasn’t _well-fucking-aware_ that Tokyo belonged to Asami.  “When nothing has actually _happened_ yet.  They’re trying to set me up thanks to that mess with the human-trafficking Diet member, but even _I’m_ not so starry-eyed and gung-ho to take a tip on someone who seems more myth than man.”

“Who?”  This time the question came out more cautiously curious than demanding.

“Asami.”  Akihito scowled, knowing it would come through in his tone.  “No matter who tries there’s never anything on him but no one with _that_ many half-heard whispers and rumors floating around is as squeaky-clean and aboveboard as Sion Corp. is on paper.  Which means he’s a shit-ton more dangerous than anything I want to wrangle with, unless you know something I don’t?”

“No,” Jirou said slowly, blinking at the idea of tenacious, never-heard-of-compromise Akihito stepping back from a juicy lead like Asami Ryuichi.  That was exactly the sort of target his little cousin liked to go after.  Pristine on the surface and filthy as the blackest of sins underneath.  Well, except for flesh trade.  Asami was one of the few men with the kind of power he wielded who’d never dipped his hands into _that_ particular brand of tainted trade.  “Without revealing anything sensitive I can _definitely_ say that I’d sleep a lot better if you kept well-fucking-away from Asami.”

“Can’t promise that, Jirou-san.”  Akihito roughly swallowed a snicker, coming off as a bit shaky as a result.  “But I _will_ promise to be careful as I nail a dirty cop trying to sling-shot me at Asami’s head to the wall.”

“Fuck.”  Jirou pinched the bride of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger.  “That…explains a lot.”

“Yup.”

“Fuck.”  Jirou repeated himself, sighing and scrubbing his free hand over his face, restraining the need to slam his forehead onto his desktop.  “I know you don’t want to hear it but…”  He winced, then said it anyway as Akihito grumbled incoherently on the other end of the call.  “Kill the fucker if you have to.  I’d rather have to visit you in prison if you get made than put you in the ground, Akihito-kun, and I know Father would agree.”

Part of the separation between Akihito and the rest of the family made him Jirou’s problem alone, which in this case was both a blessing and a curse.  It meant he didn’t have to run sanctioning lethal force against a cop through the Family Head.  But it also meant that if he didn’t keep a close enough watch on the situation then it could blow up in all their faces and land Akihito behind bars or in the ground since he wasn’t within easy reach of the Family or their best contacts and allies.

“You know the deal your grandparents made with your father, Akihito-kun.”  Jirou told him heavily, heart-sore.  “There isn’t now – nor will there _ever be_ – a seat for you at the Family table.”

“Did I ever tell you what my Father made me promise not even a week before he died?”  Akihito stared off into space, his fingers – thanks to his new Bluetooth headset – tapping and twitching anxiously on his sweatpant covered thighs.

“No, Akihito-kun.”  Jirou frowned.  “Only that he’d told you the bare-bones of the Family and his choice to leave.”

Cousin Hibiki, thankfully, hadn’t been the Heir or leaving would’ve been out of the question, but he _had_ been trained as an enforcer and later money-man when his talents pointed more towards the scholarly over the physical.

He’d known more than enough to paint a vivid – and frightening – picture for his impressionable son of what it really was to be modern-day yakuza before he died.

That Akihito hadn’t run screaming at the very _sight_ of Jirou eleven years ago he’d long chalked up to the kid being deep in grief-stricken shock more than anything else, though over the years he’d proven to have a spine of solid-fucking-titanium that made him reconsider that assumption more than once.

There wasn’t jack-shit he could think of in all the years he’d known and watched over his little cousin that Akihito-kun had been afraid of…until now.

No matter what spin he put in it or tried to cover it over, Akihito _was_ scared.

And that…that made Jirou long for the feel of his favorite Colt 1911 in his hand and the smell of blood in his nostrils, even if the punk had gone over a year since the last time they’d had contact with each other.

If anything, that just made his bloodlust urged on by his instinct to protect his sunny-natured little cousin _worse_.

“I think he must’ve been aware that there was a danger.”  Akihito mused, having had the thought more than once before when considering the promise he’d made at all of twelve years old and naïve as summer days were long.  “He made me promise him that I wouldn’t follow the ways of the Family no matter what.  That I’d find a career, an above-board, vanilla life, and never get involved with the Yoshida Family.  And I’ve kept that promise as best I could under the circumstances,” he blew out a breath.  “But things change, Jirou-san.  People change.  Maybe he already saw me getting wilder or into more than standard young punk trouble and wanted to nip it in the bud, I don’t know.  But I’m not exactly an above-board, 9-to-5, vanilla lifestyle person.  I don’t think I ever really was, despite how hard I’ve tried to force it since I stopped tagging and shoplifting and getting into street fights.”

“Yeah,” Jirou sighed.  “That sounds like my cousin from start to finish.  He never could quite grasp that there were people – including me and his father – that were _meant_ for this life.”  And with Akihito’s daredevil, thrill-seeking antics and his close-calls with juvenile hall, Jirou could definitely see those generations of yakuza before him that was hardwired into their gene code: the lawbreaker, rebel, dangerous side, coming out.

“I don’t _want_ to join the Family, Jirou-san.”  Akihito admitted, nibbling lightly on his lower lip.  “But I’m not going to let some shit-stain set me up to die because he’s a dirty bastard and I got too close to whoever holds his leash either.”

“Just be careful, Akihito-kun.”  Jirou warned him again, knowing full-well is might be fruitless but at least he could tell his Father he tried when whatever clusterfuck his little cousin was wrapped up in came crashing down on them.  Though if Akihito was really becoming more open to the Family – despite not wanting to come all the way in – it might distract his Mother from harassing his nephew the heir after his older brother to find a nice girl and settle down.  _That_ would be a blessing for everyone in the Family.  “I already buried your Father and his wife far too young.  I don’t want to have the hat-trick on my conscience.”

“Don’t worry, Jirou-san.”  Akihito rolled his head on his neck, groaning a little at a soft _pop_ that released some of his tension.  “I’m not stupid and you taught me enough to keep me from walking into an obvious trap set by a dirty cop.”

“Yeah,” Jirou groaned.  “That’s what I’m afraid of.  Taking down a dirty cop won’t make you friends on _either_ side of the law, little cousin.”

“It is what it is.”  Akihito snorted.  “And if it’s him or me, I’m going to vote him.”

“Fair enough.  I’ll talk to the Oyabun about refilling your go stash.”

“Thanks, Jirou-san.  You’re my favorite.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Fucking brat.  Go catch a dirty cop or something, shit head.”

…

The first thing he bought with the cash from his go stash – after cashing out the bonds – was a better safe to his apartment that he could conceal in his closet wall like he hid his camera safe in the living room.

Then a handful of cheap burner phones and a couple dummy cameras that _looked_ like the ones he worked with, remembering all-too-well all the times he’d lost camera bodies, lenses, phones, and memory cards at the hands of various thugs.

As well as just how _easy_ it was for someone like Asami to track or clone a cell phone.

Next, he took the eyes trained by a trio of crime lords as well as their men – some of whom like Kirishima were _way_ too good at looking harmless and/or blending in – and turned them on the contents of his closet.

Other than some random shit for going under cover to get the best shots, like the standard “uniform” tuxedo costume in its clear plastic garment bag at the back of his closet, it was all either worn-and-torn jeans and oversized t-shirts and hoodies or vintage jeans he wouldn’t risk damaging that he tended to top with clean tank tops and short-sleeved button downs.

One pair of black dress shoes.

A couple pairs of sneakers and a black pair of chucks.

Hardly the stuffed walk-in closet he’d left behind at Asami’s penthouse the morning he walked out the door and ended the day taking a bullet to the chest with its designer labels and tendency towards silk.

Asami had spoiled him, ignoring any and all protests until Akihito eventually got tired of arguing the little shit to save up his energy for the bigger battles – like bodyguards, which, you know, _hindsight_.

And _if_ , theoretically, in the process of adding leather driving gloves with full-fingers that would cover his fingerprints and keep him from leaving his identity around for anyone to pick up and run, soft-soled boots with excellent grip that would protect him loads better than tennis shoes, and other upgrades to his closet like tight long-sleeved shirts that were _certain_ to snag a certain golden-eyed asshole’s attention he added a dozen or so pairs of knit silk boxer-briefs to replace his bargain store cotton boxers…that was his business and nobody else’s.

He added an actual bed to replace his cheap futon, but kept it at a single, invested half of what was left after his shopping spree, and called it good.

For the moment.

The rest of his new influx of cash stayed in the canvas bag along with his Yoshida identity, a spare set of clothes, and one of the 9MMs with the ankle holster…just in case.

Macau might be a bit close to Hong Kong with Feilong still hanging onto his grudge – built out of a _ton_ of misinformation – against Asami but at this point the mercurial head of the Baishe had zero reason to connect Akihito to Asami and Mikhail – while impetuous and more treacherous than either Feilong or Asami when push came to shove – was the easiest to predict of the three and the least likely to try something with him that he’d have to shoot the Russian for.

Unfortunately, in that area, Asami and Feilong’s actions – while not, necessarily, theirs to own _yet –_ were working against them.

If they’d done it once – or a dozen times or more in the case of Feilong – they were capable of the same behavior again.

And this time he wasn’t going to sit back and let it happen to him if he was capable of preventing it.

His name – his real name – alone should prove rather effective as a preventive against force with what he knew about both Asami and Feilong when it came to business but he’d rather not bank on that alone.

Sometimes over the last couple weeks as he was researching and plotting and working out and so on, he’d thought seriously about taking what he knew and just… _not_ going there.

Not with any of it.

Forgetting about it, all of it, and heading straight to Macau to find a flirty Russian with a creepy-ass uncle and letting himself be seduced all over again.

He supposed, when push came to shove, that while he’d been lying there bleeding out in a dirty alley he’d made a decision.

That if Asami by some miracle saved his ass again or whatever it took for him to survive that he’d finally be selfish for once and go after what he wanted.  Not what Asami pushed or bullied him into.  Not what his dad had wanted for him.  But what _he_ , Akihito, really wanted.

A bit of selfishness after years of exposing crooks and living up to his father’s wishes, hiding parts of him away even from himself and ignoring so many things that made him feel _alive_ because they were things he wasn’t _supposed_ to want.

He wasn’t certain how what he’d decided he wanted would actually work out in the end.

Asami was one fucking selfish, possessive bastard himself after all.

But if – for once – he wanted to get what _he_ wanted, he’d have to follow the three stubborn-assed spoiled bastards of examples he’d gotten to know intimately over the course of five years of sex, blood, and tears and put in the work to get it.

Otherwise, what was the fucking point of coming back at all?

He might as well go skydiving with no parachute, since he sure-as-shit wouldn’t be taking advantage of the gift he’d been given, however it came about.

…

It’s funny what kind of dirt you can dig up in a week when you know _exactly_ where to look.

Detective Yamazaki was a decent cop and a half-assed criminal – at best.

After years under the tutelage – or just learning by osmosis – of Asami Ryuichi, getting shots of Yamazaki accepting payouts and bribes from other corrupt officials, along with the small-time syndicate that tried to throw him at Asami’s head as if the uncontested lord of all things smuggling – except human trafficking – and “fixing” in Japan would be _that_ stupid to take the bait.

He hadn’t been the first time and he wouldn’t be this time – though at least since he knew it was coming he’d hopefully be able to flat-out avoid taking Suoh’s knee to his ribs, that shit had _hurt_.

Asami was supposed to “fix” the situation regarding a dirty Diet member for the minor syndicate, above and beyond finding out what he knew about the drugs, guns, and money being filtered through Sion Corp and Asami’s clubs.

This time, however, he wasn’t about to go to that fucking warehouse set up that made him a sitting duck for Suoh to grab.

Well, that, _and_ he’d made sure there wasn’t a hint that any of his recent shots included one of Asami’s clubs.

He had big enough fish to fry with Yamazaki’s dumb betraying ass, he didn’t need Asami completely locked on _his_ while he was trying to take out the trash while he was at it.

Though as the day of their original meeting crept forward he ran out of time to avoid Asami while tailing Yamazaki since if he _didn’t_ take the bait Yamazaki was dangling regarding Asami like a t-bone in front of a starving stray mutt, the detective would know _something_ was up since at this point Akihito was still supposed to be swallowing any lead the dirty pig gave him hook-line-and-sinker.

And the old Akihito would’ve been all over the drug deal tipoff like white on rice – in fact he did jump on it without doing as much research as he should’ve to begin with and got himself snagged by Suoh.

By now Asami had his name and a full – if shallow considering how deep Jirou had buried his connections to the Yoshida Family – dossier on him and his troublemaking ways for dirty politicians and straight-up criminals alike and was already waiting for a chance to nab him at the first opportunity since Yamazaki tossed the scoop about Club Sion at him.

Last time they’d caught him because he’d been carrying his best camera bag and hadn’t wanted to leave it behind.

This time, well, he’d bought dummy cameras and burner phones _for a reason_ and the less clues and leverage he handed over to the dangerous-but-evil bastard the better.

Asami wasn’t _his_ Asami after all.  There’s been no years of sex and saving each other and loyalty to smooth away his roughest edges.  And, as he’d said, he _really_ didn’t want another round of brusied ribs courtesy of Suoh’s massive self.

Wearing jeans that were half spandex, his soft boots for extra grip, one of his long-sleeved light shirts that revealed almost as much as it concealed thanks to it clinging to every curve and flex of muscle, with his new leather gloves on his hands and a broken-in vintage leather jacket tossed on top, he set up on a rooftop that he knew he could make the jump to the next building easy as could be, snapping a useless round of fuzzy pictures of the customers coming-and-going from the member’s only Club Sion, doing a decent job of playing investigative photographer and waited for his golden-eyed hunter to show up.

…

“Asami-sama.”  Suoh, the head of security for both Asami Ryuichi personally as well as his vast network of clubs, businesses, and connections, entered the office of his boss and friend of many years, holding out a tablet that had the security feed of the exterior of Sion on the screen.  “Takaba Akihito has followed the tip-off, just as our associates promised.”

“Hn.”  Asami made an unimpressed sound as he stood and slipped into the jacket for his grey three-piece suit, covering up his twin underarm holsters for his favorite custom-made Ceska pistols.  “Foolish boy, this Takaba.  Let’s go have a…talk with him.”  His eyes ran over the lithe figure captured on the security stills that his staff had picked up on watching his operation at Sion several weeks before though not reliably enough to confront or question him.

Until now, thanks to a bit of money in the right place and a whisper in the right ear.

“Perhaps he won’t prove as foolish as his reputation would have him.”

Taking a Dunhill from his holder, he lit the expensive cigarette as he followed Suoh out of his office, his second and personal assistant – and longtime friend – Kirishima Kei sliding into place at Asami’s back.

They wouldn’t need more than the three of them to handle one stupid kid.

Hell, even _that_ was overkill, Suoh more than capable of wrangling one skinny little shit.

Still, with the issue regarding the Diet senior secretary time-sensitive, and Takaba being so _obliging_ , dealing with him where they found him would be simple enough rather than wasting time hauling him to a secondary location.

…

Smirking to himself as he held his camera loose in one hand and the rail in the other, Akihito turned and crouched at the sound of creaking hinges and leather soles on the grit dusting the building roof.

He sucked in a harsh breath at the sight that met his eyes – even though he expected it.

Fuck.

It was _so damn good_ to see them – all three of them – even with the cold, expressionless masks they were watching him with, predators who’d cornered, or so they thought, their prey.

“What the…?”  He bit off, remembering the part he needed to play.  “Who’re you guys?  What d’you want?”

He played it up, letting his voice tremble and bringing that smug – and fucking infuriating – smirk to Asami’s lips even as Suoh moved closer and closer to where Akihito was crouched at the roof rail.

That was good at least: they didn’t want him to fall on accident though he wouldn’t put it passed _any_ of them to threaten him with tossing him over the edge or straight-up dangling him off of it if they thought it’d work to get what they wanted.

After all, it took a special kind of ruthlessness married to cold calculation to build an empire like the one Asami controlled, and Suoh and Kirishima had been with him every damn step of the way.

“Takaba Akihito?”  Asami dragged his gaze from the top of that pale-golden head to the bottom of leather-clad toes.  Fuck.  The kid had been pretty in his surveillance pictures but there was _something_ to him in person that made him want nothing more than to bend him over the edge of the roof and fuck him into a sobbing _wreck_ , information he needed bedamned.  Later.  _After_ , he’d gotten what he needed out of the pretty boy he’d get what now he _wanted_ far more than information to save one idiot of a dirty politician he could buy and sell by the dozen.

Akihito shifted, edging just a bit _closer_ to the edge of the building and forcing Suoh to freeze before he could get the meat hooks he called hands on him.

“So,” Asami mused.  “You’re the one causing the secretary of the Diet problems, with your scoops regarding him in an embarrassing situation at a club in Shinjuku.”

“Who are you?”  Akihito repeated, playing the scared photog who’d been caught red-handed to the hilt.  Considering all the times Asami _had_ nailed him in such a situation over the years, it came rather easy to him.  Though controlling his arousal when Asami kept stalking closer and closer, nearly pinning him with his back against the rail was a whole ‘nother matter.

And knowing the observant horndog and the glint in golden eyes Akihito knew as well as his own name, he’d definitely noticed the activity going on below his belt.

Fuck.  Fuckity fuck fuck.  Just what he _didn’t_ need: solid proof of his attraction instead of the egotistic assumption Asami had operated on last time.

“Trouble like that is bad for business.”  Asami continued, keeping a tight leash on his libido – which was _not_ fucking helped along by the clear and visible arousal the pretty boy was trying to hide the closer Asami prowled to him.  Well well.  What a dirty little thing, his Takaba was proving to be.  How wonderful and it wasn’t even his birthday.  “I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

Knowing he was about to be boxed against the rail by Asami – though better than Suoh, Asami’s grip would be easier to break but worse because, honestly, he didn’t really _want_ to escape from his wicked clutches – Akihito lobbed his camera straight at Kirishima over Asami’s shoulder, knowing that of the three Asami’s right hand had the worst catching hands and would likely fumble it – at least a bit – and _maybe_ buy him some time.

Though so far no bruised ribs so that at least was a plus.

“I didn’t even get any good pictures.”  Akihito complained in a rush, backing up like he was some scared little rabbit instead of a thing with teeth ready to escape and track his prey another day in the face of – admittedly – a superior predator.  “Nothing I could use, I’d just toss them later anyway…  Just let me go!”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.  I only want to know who your informant about the secretary was,” Asami bracketed the pretty boy between his arms, pinning him with his heavily muscled body to the wrought-iron rail keeping cute little Takaba from a most unfortunate tumble to the street several stories below.  “Just answer my question like a good boy.  I really want that name.  Won’t you tell me?”

Shoving down an eyeroll at Asami’s over-the-top rendition of seductive menace, Akihito parroted – or paraphrased, whichever – his line: “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.  And even _if_ I did, what did you plan on doing with the information, Mister Tall-Dark-and-Menacing?”

Hmm.  Asami hummed softly under his breath.  So the pretty Takaba really _didn’t_ know whose clubs he’d been stalking – or at least giving a stellar act as such.  Interesting.

Fast – and hard – enough to leave bruises from the pressure of his grip, Asami clenched his hand with the still-lit Dunhill held in it around Takaba’s delicate jaw, the glowing red end of the cigarette coming dangerously close to soft golden skin, the heat of it sending a pinky glow to the apex of Takaba’s etched-crystal cheekbone.

Akihito shifted his weight, bracing himself and slowly maneuvering his feet.

Normally – especially thanks to the iron-hard grip Asami had on his jaw – if it were literally _anyone else_ (well maybe not Feilong or Mikhail) he’d settle for racking his assailant’s balls.

His Asami or not, that was a _fucking death wish_ , forcing him to get loose the hard way.

He’d still manage it if only this once and thanks to Asami’s own arrogance, but once was all he needed at the moment to keep history from repeating itself, Akihito _far_ too familiar with the fire burning behind that calm mask to let Asami get his hands on him anymore tonight or he’d be tied up and fucked six ways to Sunday faster than you could say “bondage.”

“Bad things happen to naughty boys.”  Asami leaned in close, running his nose along that elegant neck and inhaling the rich scent of sandalwood and sage with a distinct _tang_ of sweat – from nerves or the arousal he was close enough to feel just as his own, from the swift inhale and dilation of deep moss green irises, the pretty boy had been _well_ aware of for several minutes now.  He nipped lightly at one shell-pink earlobe.  “In _this_ world, if you’re going to go poking your nose into other people’s business, you’re going to have to take better care of yourself.”

Akihito jerked his head, dislodging Asami’s grasp – if only because it amused the fucker to let him and give him a faint hint of hope – then braced his feet and smirked.

“Who says I don’t know how to take care of myself in your world?”

Pushing off – _hard_ – from the rail, he used his flexibility and hit Asami at his left hip and right knee, then flipped backward as the few precious inches he bought himself with the surprise move – if the carefully-hidden shock was any sign – and hung on the far side of the roof railing.

Sending Asami a cheeky salute, he leapt from the roof, falling the short drop over to the next building, rolling and already running then making the easy leap to the next roof before ducking out of sight around a massive A/C unit, vanishing from sight before Suoh could send an order to Asami’s other guards or make the roof door to pursue.

Which he didn’t bother to do as Asami held up a hand to stay him, knowing without even bother to waste resources looking that the pretty boy was gone.

Though he was going to have to pay for the bruises his little _stunt_ was sure to have left on Asami, _with interest_ , when next they met.

That they would was already a foregone conclusion.

“I can’t believe he jumped at this height.”  Asami leaned one hand on the rail, raising his cigarette and taking a drag with the other as he studied the distances and trajectory.  “That was one hell of a risk.”

“He’s fast.”  Kirishima moved to stand next to his boss and Suoh.  “The next building is at least a hundred yards wide and he made it across and over to the next building’s roof in next-to-no time.”

“Yes, yes he is.”  Asami mused, chuckling darkly, reluctantly impressed if only a little.  “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“He'd make an interesting asset, Ryuichi.”  Kirishima suggested, knowing his friend’s – and boss’s, the lines between always variable and in constant flux, much like Ryuichi’s friendships with Suoh and Kuroda – mind as well as anyone other than Ryuichi could.  “ _If_ he could be recruited given his reputation.”

“Maybe so, Kei.”  Asami smirked, stabbing out his smoldering Dunhill on the rail and tossing the butt away with a casual – and practiced – flick of his fingers.  “But I have a different position – several in fact – in mind for our naughty little photographer.”

Kei rolled his eyes as Kazumi – Suoh – snorted, both of them _well aware_ of just what he meant by that.

…

 


	4. Chapter 4

** Retrospect **

**Chapter Four: Nothing Short of Scandalous**

_“_ Anyway, about the young punk…”

Asami Ryuichi reclined on his deeply-cushioned couch, listening to the report of one of his contacts.

“It seems he’s a friend of Detective Yamazaki, but hasn’t leaked any information to the police.”

“I understand,” Ryuichi smiled, already seeing a dozen moves he could make that would have the pretty thing dropping right into his hands like a ripe plum for the tasting – and the taking.  “I’ll handle the rest.”

 _Click_.

In his mind’s eye he watched as the defiant pretty boy danced over the rail and across rooftops, feeling a heat – only ever banked but never fully sated – flare to life in his belly.

 _This should be fun_ …he made my heart pound like I was chasing a wild animal.

His smile turned nothing short of wicked.

_I think I’d like to play with him some more…_

And he knew _just_ how to arrange it.

…

Too bad before the oh-so- _helpful_ Detective Yamazaki could do his part to set the trap for one pretty little Takaba Akihito, the _Times_ ran a special edition: cover-to-cover from the first page to the last with massive, high-quality shots of the _good_ Detective meeting in secret with known criminals, accepting envelopes filled with money, and other pictures that were nothing short of _scandalous_.

And who should just _happen_ to hunt the hunter?

None other but pretty, _naïve_ , little Takaba Akihito with both a by-line taking credit for the pictures but also providing dates, times, and names for the entire spread in meticulous detail.

Yamazaki was snapped up by Internal Affairs and shuffled off to solitary confinement for questioning quicker than you could say “gotcha.”

And as for Asami, well, he was reluctantly impressed with pretty Takaba’s spine if not that he’d – once again and for the second time in a row – ruined his plans.

Now _something_ was going to have to be done about that.

…

There was nothing short of sweet satisfaction filling his veins as Akihito returned to his apartment after spending the day being debriefed by Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s Internal Affairs division regarding exactly when and how he became suspicious of Yamazaki and the details of every dirty deed he knew about and photographed, including a few he hadn’t given over to the _Times_ for them to run to spare the PD at least _some_ embarrassment such as Yamazaki at an illegal gambling den/brothel and being entertained by a “hostess” at the club.

Yamazaki would probably still die, Asami likely already bought out the low-level drug ring he was involved with, but at least this time it wasn’t _directly_ because of Akihito.

And best of all: one less ass-saving he owed the promiscuous ass.

Still, clean-slate or not – as far as his body was concerned as well as his non-existent relationship with Asami at this point – that didn’t stop his _mind_ from remembering and _wanting_ the commingled pleasure and pain that Asami dealt him so well like it was Akihito’s favorite drug and Asami the only dealer in town.

At least for a couple months until Feilong shows up anyway…

Stretching his arms over his head and twisting his back as he walked down the hall towards his apartment door, he slowed, one hand going to the gun holstered under his leather jacket at the small of his back – that the cops hadn’t had a _damn clue_ he’d been carrying, no wonder Asami ran circles around them all the damn time – as he spotted the slightest disturbance along the edge of his door where his apartment met the hall.

It wasn’t something anyone would look for, the faintest of countermeasures that in a place like a low-priced studio apartment in a rundown building would be overlooked as simple grit or dirt – except that the moment someone opened his door it would be blown away from the uneven line he arranged it in every time he left and fanned out into the hallway when the door swung.

Flaring his nostrils, he lowered the pistol in hand to his side, hiding it just behind his back where he could easily bring it up in case Asami had decided on another abduction and drugging, and held his bag and the keys to the door in his off-hand, opening it up with great fanfare even as the scent of Dunhill and faint hints of Asami’s cologne stood out in the normal everyday scents of the simple apartment building.

Playing clueless, he shouldered the door open a bit clumsily and tossed his bag over to the side and his keys into the dish on his genkan table as he toed off his chucks, continuing with his routine, then kicked the door back behind him and snicked the lock back into place then set the security chain all without revealing the gun he held in hand, knowingly removing the easy exit from his options – but also slowing down any extra guards Asami might sic on him depending on how things go.

And, hell, his apartment was only on the third floor and he knew he could fit out of all but the narrow bathroom window.

He had _plenty_ of exits without even thinking about the door.

While all this happened, his listened to the smothering silence of the apartment and the soft noise of the surrounding neighbors, trying to pinpoint where Asami was lurking in wait.

Against the wall in the shadows somewhere?

Perhaps in the bathroom – certainly not the closet, _that_ wouldn’t do his pride any favors.

Though it would give Akihito joke material for ages, much like Asami pinning him against the rail on the rooftop the other night had featured alongside many, many other memories for his nightly dreams.

Flickering his gaze over the small one-room layout of the apartment, he tagged the deep shadows between his bed and the window.

Gotcha.

Lifting his free arm, he yawned, ruffling his hair and giving his lurker a peek at his abs and V cut with a filthy little smirk before finally moving his arm from behind his back and revealing the all-black Beretta as he cocked a brow as the shadows moved, Asami prowling forward but staying half-shadowed across the room.

“It was a decent effort, I’ll give you that.”  Akihito broke the silence as he split his focus between the closed door to the bathroom – where Suoh was most likely lingering or he was a cack-handed child – and the golden-eyed predator slowly studying him from across the small room.  “But like I said: I can take care of myself, _Asami Ryuichi_.  Will your bodyguard, Suoh-san, be joining us or can I put this away?”  He lifted the gun a fraction whilst distinctly _not_ aiming it at Asami’s coiled, tense form.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”  Asami arched a curious brow.  And just when he thought pretty little Takaba couldn’t possibly get anymore attractive…  “Leave yourself unarmed, _vulnerable_ , with me?”

“I’d say that depends on what you’re plotting in that tricksey, wicked mind of yours, Asami.”  Akihito returned his expression look-for-look.  He knew them well enough by now to manage it, that was certain.  “If it’s anything along the lines of abduction and whatever else that would hurt – possibly even damage me irreparably – I’m going to go with a hard pass.  If you want to _talk_ however…”  Akihito drug his eyes over Asami’s strong, tall body.  “I might be convinced to _consent_.”  His voice nearly _purred_ over the word as Asami’s eyes all-but-caught-fire at the many, many uses and implications that came with it.

“I don’t need Suoh to wrangle one bratty photographer in an enclosed space.”  Asami smirked, lifting a Dunhill and lighting up as he prowled around the edge of the bed and sitting on the near-side with a predatory loose-limbed sprawl that was pure sin and left his package – already half-hard from the banter and flat-out _teasing_ the pretty boy was tossing his way - on display.  “By all means: put your gun away, though I _am_ interested in how a hardworking warrior for justice like you came by it.”

Akihito clucked his tongue and shook his head, grinning as he tucked the pistol back away in its holster and shrugged out of his leather jacket and hanging it up, showing his back to Asami for a split-second of vulnerability that if they were playing a different game than the one in motion would have him pinned to the nearest flat surface in an instant, arms held behind him and Asami already working on his belt to strip his ass-hugging vintage jeans – the other reason for literally showing the delicious crime lord his ass – off and bury himself balls-deep in Akihito’s heat.

Pity.

After _years_ of a highly satisfying and addictive sex life with a partner who had a libido that just didn’t quit, Akihito had an _itch_ that no amount of dirty dreams and self-service was going to scratch.

But over his dead fucking body was Asami going to get between his pretty cheeks – either set – completely on his own terms.

Rather than sit next to Asami – let alone come within easy arm’s reach, though given the size of the apartment that didn’t leave him with a ton of options – Akihito propped himself on the back of his couch across the room, allowing his own legs to fall open seemingly-naturally and dangle, showing his chest, arms, and shoulders – not to mention everything below the belt, to advantage.

Playing bait-the-dirty-dirty-Dom _was_ fun, and worst case: he ended up fucked stupid a little ahead of schedule.

“So, what brings Asami himself to my humble abode?”  Akihito prompted after a long moment of trading stares of varying intensity and sexual intent – Asami’s and Akihito’s in turn, which seemed to surprise Asami no matter how quick he was to hide it.  That wasn’t surprising to Akihito.  Asami was still basing his assumptions off of Akihito’s character from one encounter and a few reports that didn’t even come _close_ to giving the other man the full picture of who -and what – he was dealing with.

What was it he said when he had him tied up and drugged that first time?

When he saw boys that were cheeky and weak he couldn’t help but want to torture them.

Well, Akihito was still cheeky – if anything he was even worse now than he was before – but _weak_?  Ha.  Not even close.

It would take a whole helluva a lot more than Asami’s menacing-seducer act to shake Akihito _now_.

He’d seen the worst of him – and the best.

He knew he could handle it, if he couldn’t go there again he’d never put himself back into Asami’s orbit in the first place since there _were_ other – less interesting and satisfying, but they still existed – ways to meet Feilong and Mikhail than through Asami though he wasn’t as familiar with their movements and operations as he was Asami’s.

Which was only to be expected.

“Ah-ah.”  Akihito warned, wagging a scolding finger as he heard a faint shuffle of movement from his right where the bathroom door was still closed.  “He comes out and the gun comes back out, this time with the safety off, a round’s already in the chamber.”

Asami smirked, impressed again.

He hadn’t thought the pretty thing had caught that.

He’d said he didn’t _need_ Suoh to handle one brat, _not_ that Suoh wasn’t in the apartment.

Takaba was smart.

 _Very_ smart.

A survivor.

Maybe Kirishima was on the right track with this pretty brat after all.

Still.

It would be _such_ a waste and sampling from his employees wasn’t a good – or sound – business decision.

And with the blatant _lusty_ appreciation that lit up those mossy green eyes when the pretty boy looked at him, Asami didn’t know how long he’d be willing to allow the temptation that Akihito represented to pass him by without a _thorough_ sampling.

Kirishima would just have to live with his disappointment.

Asami called dibs first.

Perks of being the boss and all that.

“I assume that the name of your source on the Diet’s secretary of the security division is still off the table?”  Asami drew in a lungful of rich Dunhill smoke, allowing it to trickle back out from between lush lips as he watched the pretty boy from between narrowed eyes.

“You assume right.”  Akihito tilted his head in a not-quite-nod.  “Confidential actually means something to me.”

“Then a problem remains, Takaba, that your poking around my clubs and holdings is bad for business.”  Asami mused.  “What’s to be done about that?”

“How about…”  Akihito drawled, watching his lover – or the body of his lover anyway – out of hot eyes.  As he constantly had to remind himself, this Asami wasn’t _his_ Asami – if Asami ever was his in the first place – anymore than Feilong or Mikhail were his anything at all at the moment.  “A favor for a favor?”

“Mmm.”  Asami nearly purred at the offer, intrigued though – something – nearly shouted at him that it wouldn’t be the kind of favor he was _most_ interested in.  “I’m listening.”

“The Diet secretary wasn’t the only one I caught up to naughty things around your clubs, Asami.  How about…”  He pursed his lips as if thinking it over for a moment.  “The names of two of your managers – one dirtier than the other – who’re running _operations_ that rumor has it you don’t approve of in exchange for you _conveniently_ reporting the secretary’s problem as handled to whoever asked to “fix” the issue.”

The fire in Asami’s eyes banked, another sort entirely flaring as his gaze turned razor-sharp.

“How good is your intel?”

Akihito jerked a shoulder without lifting his hands from bracing himself up on the narrow back of the couch.

“The degree of guilt is an educated guess.  Everything else I have in full HD.”

Asami assessed the pretty boy – young _man_ – staring him down anew as he processed this information at rapid speed, Suoh no doubt already texting Kirishima with the details of Akihito’s offer for his second to jump on the issue offered up.

They all knew – Akihito as much as anyone else – that with even that much it was only a matter of time above Asami’s people or Asami himself nailed whoever was breaking ranks in his organization.

However – and it was a big however – the names and proof Takaba offered would make everything so much quicker and easier.

Asami rose pinching the Dunhill in his hand out and setting it aside on Akihiko’s nightstand, Akihito tracking him but staying still as the larger man prowled over to him, grabbing hold of a jaw still lightly dusted with a hint of bruising from several days before, meeting Asami’s gaze fearlessly.  Then in an echo of his move on the rooftop, Asami angled Akihito’s face slightly to the left as he lowered his lips to just _barely_ brush one dainty ear, breath whispering out with silken threat over skin slightly pink with a blush – though of arousal or fear he couldn’t quite read just yet – and pale gold hair alike.  His other hand gripped one smooth-boned hip and dragged him close, pressing their hard cocks that hadn’t lowered even as much as half-mast since Akihito sauntered into his apartment with full awareness of the predator that was lying in wait together with a pressure that was just shy of pain.

“If you tell me the truth, you’ll have nothing to fear from me.”  Asami promised.  “But if you’re lying, well.”  His hand on that hip he’d like to grab hold of under different circumstances shifted, filling grasping fingers and a hungry palm that _itched_ to paint wine-red handprints across a perky ass with said perky ass.  “I’ll show you how I treat pretty, naughty, lying little boys who are _far_ too cheeky for their own good.”

Akihito leaned up, stretching just a _bit_ and brushing his tightly-furled nipples and hard cock against Asami’s suit-draped hard length.

“Fair enough.”  He breathed, tongue flicking out and just _barely_ refraining from taking a taunting taste of Asami’s golden skin.  “Your would-be entrepreneurs are the manager of Club Dracaena – who doesn’t seem that smart, honestly – and that sleeze Sakazaki who manages one of the Shinjuku clubs.”

A frown flickered across Asami’s face for a moment then washed away behind his implacable – if aroused – mask.

“The evidence?”  That the pretty tease had – obviously – refrained from sharing with either the police or his media contacts.  Smart, as he’d thought, knowing when he had a card to play and holding it close until he needed it.  A real survivor.  A real asset – and in more ways than one.  My my.  This boy at least wasn’t boring.

Akihito arched a brow at Asami then looked pointedly down – as best he could given the hand still holding his jaw – at the large hand cupping his ass.

Smirking, Asami squeezed that plump, perky cheek once then gave it a light _smack_ that nearly echoed in the simply furnished apartment then stepped back one long stride, hand lifting away from the pretty one.

Rolling his eyes, always with the not just taking an inch but a mile with Asami, Akihito hopped down and sauntered over to his computer desk, pressing a panel behind the printer and revealing a hidden compartment with a combination lock that he made a mental note to change as soon as his _guests_ – Suoh finally coming out of the bathroom at a quiet word from Asami – left, opening the lock and door to reveal the secret it kept: a peg-board filled with labeled USB drives.

Fortunately for his nerves – and getting his guests to clear out – he knew exactly which one he needed, plucking up the red drive with gold band, the same as the tacky décor at Sakazaki’s club, then shut and locked the door and rose, holding out the drive to his one-time lover.

“They’re all date-stamped.”  He told them simply.  “Should be easy enough to confirm.”

Asami reached out with one long-fingered hand and plucked the USB drive from Akihito’s grasp then handed it straight over to Suoh to deliver to Kirishima, which the bodyguard and head of security spun on his heel and left the apartment after undoing the security chain and lock, closing the door behind him to complete his newest task at once.

“There’s more to you than there first appears, Takaba Akihito.”  Asami noted almost ponderously as he mentally flipped through dozens of plots and plans and options taking this newest information into account.

“And here I was told that the CEO of Sion Corp was smart.”  Akihito couldn’t help tweaking him, just a little.  Revenge for being – anyway he looked at it – the cause of his current frustrated sexuality.  “If you’re just _now_ starting to get that I might think I was lied to.”

An honest to god _growl_ rumbled from between barely-parted lips as Asami’s eyes flashed hot once more, near-to searing Akihito where he stood with the blatant look of lust painted across Asami’s face.

“Cheeky,” Asami growled, prowling forward for the third time since Akihito returned home from the police precinct less than an hour before.  “ _Very_ cheeky.  If you’re not careful that _mouth_ of yours is going to write a check your body is going to have to cash…”

“Oh really?”  Akihito restrained his desire to pant, _he knew that look goddamit_ and it always led to him being tortured in the _best_ of ways.  “Who says I _want_ to be careful?”

Really, that was just waving a red flag in front of an already enraged bull, but it was _also_ a calculated risk – part gamble and part temptation.

He’d just handed over _very_ valuable information to Asami.

There was _no fucking way_ he was going to ignore it, despite how badly – and knowing Asami it was just shy of _desperately_ – he wanted to bend him over, spank his ass red, and fuck him until Akihito couldn’t walk and would be feeling Asami for days afterward.

If there was a more opportune moment to let Asami get a _taste_ of what he was going to seriously _want_ but couldn’t yet _have_ let alone _own_ , he couldn’t figure out when it could come or a way to engineer it.

Really, as far as Akihito was concerned, Sakazaki’s greedy ass and Suduo’s dumb ass were _gifts_ in the epic game of sex-chicken he was playing with one of the most dangerous men – in more ways than one – he’d ever met.

That he _owed_ them their own taste of revenge – especially Sakazaki – well, that was just the icing on that particular cake.

A heartbeat later and Asami snapped him up in his arms, one a hot-as-molten-iron bar around his waist and over his hip, grabbing hold of Akihito’s ass once more, the other firm vertical against his back, hand fisted in his silky blond hair – nearly painfully so, riding that edge that Asami knows better than anyone Akihito had ever fucked – forcing his head back and _taking_ his mouth with firm, near-bruising lips and a plundering tongue determined to taste every last crevice of his hot, wet oral cavern and brooking no play or challenge from Akihito’s own tongue.

It lasted an endless hour – or maybe just a moment – stealing Akihito’s breath and reminding him, though Asami didn’t know it, of just _who_ he belonged to.

It was a branding.

Planting a flag, claiming territory, declaring ownership and possession, every iteration thereof and – as Akihito responded, nipping at plush lips that were hard with the force of Asami’s kiss and riding that same edge of pain on that invading tongue that the fist in his hair tightened warningly and teetered on – none of it.

Asami hadn’t _earned_ him yet.

Not even _close_.

It wouldn’t _do_ considering what it was Akihito had decided he truly wanted above anything else – _choice_ – to let him get away with it entirely.

He could have the inch – or the kiss.

But if he thought to claim a mile and Akihito body and soul along with it he had another think coming.

A silent message as fierce green eyes fluttered open as the kiss carried on and met burning gold that was very much received as the gold hardened, Asami’s tongue gave one last flick before his teeth nipped – just once but hard enough to draw blood, a warning or Akihito was a toadstool – and he released him and spun, striding through the door and leaving Akihito wobbling on suddenly-weak knees behind him without another word.

“Well.”  Akihito announced to dead air after the door had quietly – but firmly – clicked closed behind his uninvited guest.  “That went well, I thought.”

He winced, grinding the heel of one palm against his hard – and fucking _leaking_ – cock before sighing and rolling eyes.  Locking his front door – again – he wandered straight for the bathroom.  He had a problem and no Asami to torture him with it so he might as well take care of it, no matter how disappointing the orgasm was certain to be in comparison to the utter, body-stunning and subspace-inducing _bliss_ Asami was capable of dishing out.

…

Asami Ryuichi – despite the shit-storm of overreaching and flat-out disobedient underlings he’d learned about the previous day – reclined back in his bed and opened up the audio file Kirishima had one of their techs vet – deleting any dead air – and then compile before forwarding it to him.

A recording of audio files sourced from the bugs Suoh had planted at Takaba Akihito’s simple, dingy little apartment.

The apartment itself was nothing to look at other than small peeks into the personality of the tenant.

Not the best building or area, dust in the hallway leading to the door, though at least the lift, trash chute, and mail slots had all seemed in decent enough repair with no missing or burned out lighting in the entryway, parking lot, or hallways.  It was a tiny shoebox of a place: one room with a bed, couch, kitchen with a bar and stools in place of a table, and a computer desk that hid secrets of its own and the equipment on it far and away much more expensive than anything else in the place.  He hadn’t found any cameras or other photography equipment but as the surprising panel hidden behind the printer showed, they hadn’t actually had much time to search the place before Takaba arrived home.

An oversight he was _eager_ to correct at the earliest opportunity, especially since he was anticipating Takaba’s confines to be just as packed with surprises as the pretty young man himself.

Nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – in any of the information Kirishima had gathered had even _hinted_ at the possibility of Takaba carrying, let alone that he’d actually know what to do with a gun even if he somehow possessed one.

He hadn’t acted like a person unfamiliar with weapons and as an arms dealer Asami knew better than anyone what that looked like in practice.

No, Takaba not only carried a weapon, he _knew how to use it_ and showed zero problems or hesitation in doing so if needed.

Even his holster had been seated correctly – Asami had checked when he had the cheeky creature wrapped up in his arms so temptingly.

Alas, business, the worst cock-block in the history of creation.

All these gaps in his knowledge – in _Kei’s_ knowledge when his second had never failed him before – were nothing less than troubling, making him wary and setting his temper on a hair-trigger.

Not that he was the most easy-going person… _ever_ , but the point remained valid regardless.

Things about Takaba Akihito were _not_ adding up and it was driving him – and Kirishima – to distraction and not in a fun way.

Though the pretty thing did that too.

He’d picked up a willing body for a night, yesterday, but it had been distinctly unsatisfying despite the blond hair, tight body, and green eyes.

The hair was obviously dyed, the eyes more hazel than pure green, and the body didn’t have the easy – and deceptive – strength that Takaba had used more than once to effect against Ryuichi on the rooftop and in his own domain alike.

Takaba was a predator in his own right.

The silly little thing he fucked a couple time then dismissed to pouts had been nothing more than prey – and not even all that _tempting_ or difficult prey.

A fluffy bunny when Ryuichi was craving a hunt against a hissing vixen that was as likely to swipe his head off as he was purr under his hands.

No, Takaba was a _challenge_ , one that Ryuichi wanted nothing more than to bury himself in until neither of them could tell up from down and day from night, unfortunately there were too many questions left unanswered for him to risk it.

And a pair of naughty underlings to discipline before those answers could be fully sought.

Closing his eyes so he could focus on Takaba’s voice alone, Ryuichi allowed a smile to curve over his lips at the fierce fox-kit’s irreverent comment in the wake of his departure.  _That went well, indeed_.  Though the smile turned into a full-blown smirk when the next sounds that came from between pouty pink lips and out of Ryuichi’s speakers was the moans, gasps, and groans playing out in true stereo over the sounds of water streaming down from the shower.

 _Naughty naughty little one_.  Ryuichi purred mentally.  Taking care of his own arousal and leaving Ryuichi unsatisfied.  Tsk tsk.

When Takaba was _his_ , Ryuichi would be quick to…correct such transgressions.

Wrapping his own palm, slick with lube from his bedside table, around his pulsing erection, he rewound the recording and settled into play shameless auditory voyeur as Takaba dealt with the _problem_ Ryuichi left him, groaning low in his throat when he paced his own pleasure just right and came within moments of his little fox-kit’s final, groaning gasp that he could – almost – hear a name within but the recording wasn’t _quite_ clear enough to decipher.

Pausing the recording once more as his spend started to cool after milking every last drop out of his softening cock – finding that simple act of self-pleasure _vastly_ more satisfying that spilling into last night’s not-nearly-tight-enough ass – he cleaned himself up then relaxed once more, feeling rather languid for the moment.

The recording cut to the next voice-print, Ryuichi frowning a moment at the content then realizing it was a phone call and wishing they’d had time – like thoroughly searching the apartment – to tap the phone.

Oh well, tasks for one of Suoh’s people to handle tomorrow or the next time they confirmed Takaba was expected to be gone for longer than a quick errand.

“ _Hey it’s me.”_

_“Yeah, good good: listen.”_

_“No, man nothing like that.”_ A huff of a laugh.  _“Listen asshole.  Fuck.  I need to meet with you guys.  No, no, it can’t be here or at yours.  No, no nothing like that.  Yeah, that’ll work, I don’t really want to say more over the phone, you know?”_

A groan and a mutter.

 _“Yeah,”_ a sigh.  _“But worse.  Much worse.  Yes, it has to do with that fuckhead,”_ Ryuichi could almost _see_ the vicious grin on Takaba’s pretty face.  _“Only returning the favor, man.  If he was willing to sellout it was only a matter of time before he sold_ me _out.  But it goes deeper than that.  A lot deeper.  With the kind of players I would rather didn’t even know my name but that ship has fucking sailed thanks to Yama-asshole’s shitty leads he had me hunting down.  Listen.  Dude: listen.  I’m not gonna say anything more until I see you.  Yeah.  Yeah.  Yeah, okay, see you then.  Bye.”_

That was…frustratingly vague and informative all at the same time.

And Ryuichi’s impression of Takaba’s intelligence continued to hold up under scrutiny if he was wary enough to be suspicious of being overheard, especially since he had no way to be certain how long he’d had access to the apartment or what he’d done while he was there with Suoh.

That Takaba had a well-developed of self-preservation didn’t entirely translate from his juvenile rap sheet and education records, even reading between the lines, but it _definitely_ held up against what Ryuichi had seen of him in person.

What an enigma.

He could hardly wait to take him apart and figure out what _really_ made him tick.

There was little else on the recording, bit of muttering to himself or singing – pleasantly enough but nothing amazing – along with the radio, before he came to Kirishima’s crisp tones announcing the end of that day’s recording compellation.

Ryuichi sent off a text to Suoh to put a tail on Takaba in addition to the one keeping an eye on his apartment.

One capable of eavesdropping without being compromised.

He wanted to know what was sensitive enough to risk making a phone call in an apartment he couldn’t be certain was free from surveillance but far too precious to do more than dance around it in case of being overheard.

Ryuichi had a feeling that the answer might be a massive jump forward in understanding one Takaba Akithito – and therefore securing him as a permanent feature for however long his interest lasted in his bed.


	5. Chapter 5

** Retrospect **

**Chapter Five: Of Leverage and Collateral Damage**

It took Akihito all of three minutes the next day to spot the watcher assigned to his apartment and another two to tag his personal shadow, a smirk hiding under the sheltering – and concealing – darkness provided by his black oversized hoodie when he left his apartment to meet up with Takata and Kuo.

That trait of his, taught by Jirou and honed by his job as an investigative photographer, always _had_ driven Asami right up the wall when none of his thugs could keep an eye on him.

Both for his protection as things got deeper between them _and_ because Asami was a possessive bastard.

Knowing he only had to worry about the one – a guard he already _knew_ from running him ragged before through alleyways and over rooftops couldn’t keep up with him – he headed out without giving away that he’d noticed the surveillance.  Turning down the street and ignoring his Vespa locked in his spot in the lot, he kept and easy-but-brisk pace, dodging around other pedestrians and crossing a street here and another there.  Until he came to the certain corner just after a large flower peddler that always had over-the-top displays and legged it down the alley, easily bouncing off the far wall and grabbing hold of a fire escape without lowering the loud – and telling – ladder.  Climbing fast he heaved himself up and over the edge of the roof and flattened himself out, listening and watching as his tail – who’d kept between half and a quarter of a block back depending on foot traffic, searched for him fruitless before cursing and darting back out of the alley to try and pick up his trail elsewhere.

Akihito snickered quietly before rising and easily loping across the roof to the next and then the next, ending up several blocks away before he had to head back to street level and a train station on the complete opposite side of his neighborhood than the one he’d been leading his tag-a-long towards, knowing full-well that that would be the hapless guard’s ultimate destination and final attempt to find him again before calling it and throwing in the towel and making the shameful report to Suoh that he couldn’t keep eyes on _one_ simple photographer in the late morning in Tokyo.

He huffed another laugh, already seeing the _look_ the guard was going to get from Kirishima for failing in his duty let alone the ass-chewing from Suoh.

Poor bastard.

This just wasn’t his day.

Thumbing through his lock screen, he shot off a text to Takato:

_OMW, On Train Now._

The replay took only a minute to come through, reaching him before his train went down into a tunnel:

_K, W8ing.  Bring snax._

…

“You…lost him.”  Suoh repeated the report out loud for the enlightenment of his friend and boss who was in the backseat as Suoh drove him to his next off-site meeting.  “Takaba.”

“ _Yes, Suoh-san.”_   The guard’s voice was tinny from the cellphone connection but his frustration was still crystal clear despite that detail.  _“He turned a corner behind a large floral stall and by the time I caught up he was gone.”_

“Takaba has shown a predilection for free-running.”  Asami noted with faux-idleness, shooting a wordless command that revealed none of his inner irritation over the plan being scrapped so handily and his explicit order to observe and report on Takaba’s secretive meeting being disobeyed however unintentionally.  “Parkour.  Did he, by _chance_ , think to scan the roof tops?”

Suoh repeated the question for his subordinate, only to wince and shake his head at his underling’s answer.

“Well.”  Asami slapped his file he was reviewing closed and tossed it harshly, a minor expression of temper to keep it from boiling over during what was sure to be a _trying_ meeting, to the floor of the limo.  “I trust you’ll take care of this failure, yes, Suoh?”

“Hiroki will be reassigned immediately.”

“To perimeter duty at the docks.”  Asami added to the punishment – and it was that, especially for a somewhat highly-ranked guard in Asami’s organization.  _No_ one wanted to run patrols at the docks this time of year when they were inevitably bone-chilling with cold and icy winds and the ground slick with ice.  Perfect to _enlighten_ his guards just how lowly he looked down upon those who failed in his orders – particularly as they pertained to one Takaba Akihito.

At least until he tired of the pretty little vixen.

“Of course, Asami-sama.”

“Excellent.”  Asami sat back, proceeding to brood over the information that was now firmly beyond his grasp.  “And Suoh?”

“Yes, Asami-sama?”

“Make _certain_ , Takaba’s apartment is thoroughly and discreetly wired for sound and video with a full view and no blind spots.  _Today_.”

“Yes, Asami-sama.”

…

Akihito hit up the closest convenience store near the rendezvous point he’d arranged with his longtime friends to pick up the requested snacks, already having gone over and over the conversation – argument – sure to come when they find out not only _why_ he’s been out of touch lately but that it was about to get worse.

Bag with munchies swinging in his hand, he enjoyed the last bit of peace he was guaranteed until he talked his friends around – and even then it was up in the air how okay they’d leave things – but it needed to be done.

 _He’d_ made the selfish decision to go after what he wanted, disregarding that _what he wanted_ was both heavily involved in the criminal world and vastly dangerous for anyone connected to him.

He didn’t worry for a second about the Family or his distant blood relations back in England.

One could more than take care of themselves and the other wasn’t enough of a connection for anyone with even a fragment of a working brain cell to bother going after if they were expecting a reaction out of him.

Kuo and Takato were different as Feilong had proven _quite effectively_ once upon a time.

A clean break and a safety net fashioned of distance was the best gift he could ever give them at this point so they could live safe – and happy – but most importantly safe, killers-and-assassins-and-abduction-free lives.

His friends clamored him as soon as he hit the park they’d picked – nice and public and not truly connected to any of them for all that they all knew about it – and came into view.

Though he was pretty sure that was half-him and half the snacks but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

A half-hour or so of chit-chat and catching up on random shit later had Kuo turning serious brown eyes on his half-English friend who’d ghosted them for several weeks – not that it was the first time but usually there was _some_ warning – and demanded the dirt.

“Spill, Aki.”  He pinned his friend with an uncompromising look.  “You didn’t haul us out here to talk about Taka’s girlfriend or my latest project at work.  What’s going on?”

The subtext of _what did you get into now?_ Was light but still prevalent in his tone.

Sighing, letting himself feel – and showing them in the process – just how _tired he was_ after all of… _everything_ , he closed his eyes heavily and scrubbed his hands over his face, setting aside his half-full box of strawberry pocky.

Which was a worrisome sign all on its lonesome let alone everything else to raise red-flags with his closest friends.

“Is it like that time…?”  Takato started to ask tentatively only for Akihito to shake his head and cut him off with a tired laugh.

“Worse.”  He said, lowering his hands and blinking his eyes open.  “So much worse.  And so much more dangerous.  Not really for me, you know, but…”

He waved a vague hand, referencing things about himself that he’d never really _explained_ but both of them had seen Jirou at least once and had drawn certain conclusions from that alone.

There was a lot about his life before moving to Tokyo that Akihito didn’t talk about and more since moving to Tokyo that he never mentioned.  They’d learned a long time ago not to ask too many questions about any of that.  For him more than anything.

It just used to upset him and set off one of his risky-behavior sprees so those who gave half a damn about him learned to avoid the subject altogether.

“Oh,” they traded resigned looks.  “How long do you have to go dark on us this time?”

Last time it’d been about a month as some big-shot politician was tried and arraigned just in case he decided to try and get back at the snot-nosed photographer that snapped his more incriminating photos of a drug deal the politician was involved in.

“Life.”  Akihito told them bluntly, ripping off the bandage.  “What I’m in now…any weakness will be sought out, examined with a fine-toothed comb, and exploited to the fullest extent possible.  And other than a few casual acquaintances from college or the _Times_ , my only real vulnerable spots are…”

“Us.”  Kuo took a deep breath, trying to hold onto his temper at the utter _bullshit_ he was hearing come form his friend’s mouth.  “We can be used to manipulate you, force your hand…”

“Or to punish me.”  Akihito set his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave a short nod.  “Exactly.”  He swallowed harshly looking from a devastated Takato to an internally-raging Kuo.  “I can live with knowing you’re out there somewhere, pissed as hell at me and the bullshit I got involved in.  I _won’t_ live with knowing that being involved – even in the most peripheral fashion – in my life put _your_ lives or those of your families in danger or even got you killed.  _That’s_ how heart-attack serious this is now.”

“Fuck, Aki.”  Kuo cursed, looking away from the wounded-puppy expression mixed with a curiously blank measure of unshakable resolve he had plastered all over his face.  “What _happened?”_

“I can’t even tell you.”  He chuckled mirthlessly.  “You just have to trust that I know what I’m doing – and that I’m not going to risk some of the only somewhat good and pure parts of my life.  Even if it means setting it firmly in my past and drawing a line under it.”

“You’re going to shut down and scrub your social media, aren’t you?”  Takato sighed, rattling his fingers on the table as he looked beyond his own upset and shock at what the real _pain_ radiating from his friend.  “Leave not even breadcrumbs to find that we were anything more than high school friends.”

“Yeah.”  Akihito nodded, wincing.  “Change my number, scrub my phone, the whole nine yards.  Completely sterilize my footprint so if anyone goes looking they’ll only find things that are innocuous and not worth pursuing or things that _aren’t_ and aren’t worth the risk to pursue.”

“Why, Aki?”  Kuo pressed.  “Why are you doing this?  You have to have other options if you’re so fucking determined to play martyr.”

“Please.”  Akihito snorted.  “I’m not even _close_ selfless enough to be a martyr.  This is a choice I needed to make for the best outcome in my future: so I’m making it.”

“Just like that huh?”

“Yeah.”  Equally-stubborn gazes clashed and warred for long moments as Takato stared on in clear worry then Kuo caved as they all knew he would, his ability to be intractable _nothing_ compared to Akihito’s.

Slamming his balled-up fists on the wooden picnic table, Kuo rose and stormed away and out of sight.

“He’ll forgive you.”  Takato reassured his longtime friend, though he wasn’t so certain this time.  “And I’ll do a back trace in a couple days, make sure you – or whoever – did a pristine job of scrubbing your fingerprints off the interwebs.”  He sighed, reaching over and giving the other man a hug.  “And Aki: take care of yourself.”

“I will.”  Akihito rose, crossing over to behind his friend – former-friend now he supposed – and gave him another hug from behind.  “That one is for Kuo when he cools down.  I’d rather you two are alive to hate me, resent me, wish horrible things upon me than risk you getting caught up and hurt – or killed – because of a choice I made to pursue something that is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done or likely ever _will_ do.”

“It’s that big?”

“Oh yeah.”  A crooked grin crossed Akihito’s pretty face, lighting up his eyes.  “ _Real_ big.”

Through of the two of them chuckling, sharing a last laugh before bidding each other goodbye, only one of them caught the innuendo.

…

Asami accepted the information that they were almost ready to move on Suduo and Sakazaki with aplomb, nodding once at the report from Kirishima before turning to arch a questioning brow at his head of security in wordless demand.

“Takaba returned to his apartment six hours after losing his tail.”  Suoh dove into his report of the detail on Takaba’s actions and summarizing the reports from the day shift.  “Before his return your orders regarding the surveillance measures had been undertaken and the entire apartment searched, unearthing two more safes hidden within the walls themselves: one beside the computer desk that required only a passcode that our techs were able to crack before Takaba’s return containing what appeared to be merely a selection of cameras and photography equipment of varying value and quality.  The second was found in a side-wall of his closet,” he hesitated a moment then delivered the bad news.  “It was the same manufacturer that we employ at Sion, Asami-sama.”

“What measures?”  Asami arched an intrigued brow at that as he sipped at his bourbon.  Curiouser and curiouser.  After all, the safes employed at Sion Corp as well as his penthouse tended to be models preferred by those who had something vital to hide such as, say, criminals or high-level government officials.

Or as Takaba liked to splash across the _Times_ , sometimes both at once.

“Fingerprint which we _might’ve_ been able to manipulate by lifting prints from around the apartment,” Kirishima supplied, being the point-of-contact and supervisor over the techs despite them often being shared or loaned out to security and other departments of Asami’s organization.  “But also an English alphanumeric password eleven digits long.”

Asami whistled softly, knowing just how difficult _that_ was to crack in combination with the fingerprint since they – most likely considering the safe designer in question – had to be supplied in quick succession of each other or they’d be completely overridden and require a bypass supplied by the manufacturer to reset the safe.

His own safe in the penthouse and his office required a retina scan and a twelve-digit password entered within twenty seconds of each other or it would lockout access requiring reset.

But then, no matter _what_ secrets his pretty vixen was hiding with his personal security measures, they couldn’t possibly be of the same deadly and dangerous as those that Asami possessed.

“Any ideas?”

Suoh and Kirishima traded a glance then Suoh spoke up: “according to the report the closet safe appears to be a much newer addition, the edges of the cuts to set it flush behind the closet paneling is still rough and unweathered.”

Asami thought over that a moment then gestured for them to continue.

“Nothing unusual was found except that which was _not_ found.”  Kirishima reported.  “No gun safe of any kind was found, either it was locked away in the closet safe or Takaba carries it whenever he leaves the apartment.  Inspection of the USB drives hidden in the concealed safe in the computer desk revealed half as many as you told us to expect and were all blank.”

“He moved the others.”  Asami snorted softly.  Suspicious creature, Takaba.  First the careful phone call, then losing his tail, and now this.  Yet another piece of the puzzle though he wasn’t certain just where it fit yet.

“That would be our assumption since he took nothing with him from the apartment that didn’t fit in or under his clothes.”  Suoh took his turn again.  “Nothing unusual was reported when he returned.  He spent some time cooking and puttering around his apartment muttering to himself before logging onto his computer that one of the techs cloned however as he carries his cell phone on his person, we have yet to manage a wire or clone of the device.”

“His work on the computer was the first visible sign of him being anything but a perfectly ordinary twenty-three-year-old college graduate other than his ability to apparently lose a tail.”  Kirishima explained as he handed over a summary – that’d had to be rewritten for the layman after even he’d struggled with the routines and protocols and specialized language his tech monitoring the cloned PC had used – of Takaba’s computer activity.  “From what our techs could discern, he was actively – and not without some skill – erasing much of his personal electronic footprint from the internet and social media.  Everything post-high school in fact that was unrelated to his freelance photography career.”

“Clearing his trail, wiping out his past as much as possible.”  Suoh grumbled a bit half-heartedly.  He appreciated a smart criminal after all.  He just generally preferred them working _for_ him and his boss and not causing them – theoretical or not – problems.  “He’s getting ready to run.”

“From what?”  Asami mused, flipping through the paperwork, then flicked a dismissive glance at his right and left hands, the pair turning to leave, continuing to think on the matter. 

_The immediate threat to his life was cleared with Yamazaki’s arrest and my buyout – and burnout – of that pitiful drug peddling gang with delusions of grandeur.  He stood toe-to-toe with me – more than once – and never backed down.  What could spook someone with a spine like that?_

_Or perhaps…what if he wasn’t spooked at all._

_The closet safe was new._

_Not even the slightest mention of him having a gun or knowing how to use one anywhere in his dossiers either shallow and the later deep-dive Kei handled personally._

_Not…scared, no that didn’t fit_ anything _he’d seen of Takaba Akihito or his dossier profile._

_Prepared._

_He received attention he didn’t anticipate thanks to that dirty cop, threats he might not’ve expected._

_Next time…he might not be so lucky._

_He’s preparing for attack proactively, an aggressive gambit to prevent a future chance at being placed in Check or Checkmate._

_Takaba isn’t frightened._

_He’s making_ ready _._

_My my._

_How…charming this wild, untamed creature I’ve discovered is._

He smirked darkly, tossing back the rest of his bourbon.

Perhaps he’d send the _good_ detective a thank-you basket in prison for sending such a wonderful gift wrapped in a challenge and tied with a puzzle into his path.

If the dirty cop lived that long.

Rats of his particular sort never _did_ tend to last long, hated as they were by both sides of the spectrum: the other boys in blue they betrayed and the criminals they’d spent their careers locking away.

Or…perhaps it might do to arrange a personal thank-you for the good detective…and find out _exactly_ what he knew about Takaba Akihito.

…

Akihito shot off one last text – as requested – to Takato before moving the handful of contacts over from his old iPhone and number to his new one and then tossing the old one in his microwave after disabling his smoke detectors and opening his windows to air out the acrid smoke from the utter destruction he carried out on the old device.

His new one was identical in every way, few would ever notice, but it was on an account most people – even criminals – would have problems getting their mitts on and had an encryption program a contact from the _Times_ had set him up with for part of his remaining “go” stash fund.

Honestly, he didn’t _really_ need all of the countermeasures he’d employed against tampering and tracking that he’d set up when he thought about it logically.

But then again, he knew better than anyone how much his crimelords appreciated challenges so – needed or not – he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the measures he’d taken to obscure his only weaknesses beyond the crimelords themselves and make life just a little bit more interesting for first Asami and then Feilong and Mikhail when they inevitably appeared on the scene.

This time rather than orbiting in and out of _their_ sucking-black-hole levels of ego-driven possessive sex-appeal, _he_ would beguile _them_ and pull them in.

Hopefully without _too_ much bloodshed in the process.

But he supposed in the end that really just came down to the question of having the appropriate leverage to get them to stop and _think_ with the head on their shoulders instead of the cocks or their egos for _one damn minute_ before doing something…irrevocable.

He knew far too well what the collateral damage of _that_ kind of bullshit looked like and it was bullet wounds, creepy uncles choking him out, and one nasty case of PTSD.

Another text to his main contact/editor at the _Times,_ Suzuki-san, and one to Jirou from his new phone had his number sent to the two people who absolutely _had_ to have it, and then Akihito was raising and stretching with a massive yawn, wandering over to his closet and stripping down to his skin save for his boxer-briefs, tossing his day’s clothes in the hamper and pulling on an oversized t-shirt to wear to bed.

Since he _hasn’t_ been “blessed” by Asami pushing his way into his apartment, he assumed the crimelord was busy – hopefully caving Sakazaki’s molesting-rapey head in with a baseball bat – and crawled into bed.

Tomorrow was another day and he still had a few fucked-up targets to expose on his list that he knew were up to dirty deeds at this point whereas there were a few others he’d have to wait or start seriously investigating to figure out where/when they were operating out of now versus later when he originally did exposé’s on them.

He hadn’t decided – yet – whether he’d stick to being a photographer as a career or not.

Nothing would ever kill his enjoyment of what he saw through his viewfinder and everything he could bring to life or light with his camera, but…juggling crimelords wasn’t exactly a time-light occupation in and of itself.

Honestly, he’d barely been able to keep up with Asami fulltime before.  Add in two more men of similar ilk and…yeah.  Not enough hours in the day.  And even then, he knew – from more than one argument and heavy-handed attempt to convince him to quit – that Asami hadn’t always gotten enough of his time.

The possessive, sexy bastard that he was then and likely always would be.

Maybe he’d stick to art photography this time around – once he’d snared his crimelords anyway.

Well, either way.

All of that was a decision to fight through another day.

…

The prisoner was escorted in secret from solitary confinement under guard and a curious _glitch_ in the security system that had the cameras blinking out one by one.

He was led to a limo that was waiting at the far end of the jail’s parking lot, well beyond the reach of their external security, and shoved into the back seat where his still-cuffed hands, the clink of ice cubes in a laser-etched crystal lowball glass, and the flash and flare of a lighter kissing flame to the end of an expensive cigarette highlighting infamous – and cold, so very cold – golden eyes.

Yamazaki knew, then, that he was _so fucked_.

Above and beyond the crimes that IA had him dead-to-rights for – thanks to one too-smart-for-his-own-good kid – if he didn’t have whatever it was Asami was after, he doubted he’d make it back to his quiet cell let alone trial.

“Detective Yamazaki.”  Asami greeted the rat as cordial – and in control – as ever.  At least until it paid to be otherwise.  “Thank you for joining me.”

“Of, of course, Asami-sama.”  The older man stuttered out, rubbing his hands together as much as possible with them still cuffed behind his back.  Not for Asami’s safety.  Oh no, Yamazaki knew better than to believe _that_.  But to keep him anxious and off-center…yeah, that was exactly the sort of thing the infamous CEO of Sion Corp and undisputed leader of the Tokyo criminal underworld would do.  “Whatever you need.”

“What do you know about Takaba Akihito?”  Asami got straight to the point.  “Not the surface facts that end up in a dossier or a juvie record.  The things you observed when he wasn’t watching.  That you were told – or weren’t told but figured out anyway.  Everything.  Down to the last detail and I’ll let you go back to your _cozy_ single bunk without issue.”

He didn’t need to issue an _or else_ , not with a coward like Yamazaki.

The rat’s craven imagination could do a better job at scaring the cretin shitless than any turn of phrase Asami could put forth.

Yamazaki felt his mouth open and close several times then he finally gathered his wits under the gimlet gaze of a placid – nearly inhuman – mask.

“His name isn’t Takaba.”  Yamazaki started there, groping his way blindly through vocalizing things that had been idling their way slowly through his mind over the couple of years he’d known the kid.  “I don’t know _what_ it really is, the name change was legal and then redacted and buried and sealed way too deep to dig up without drawing attention.  But the timelines all check out.  A couple with a twelve-year-old gunned down in a drive-by in Yokohama by an upstart group of punks that end up wiped out by the ruling Family of the region not even a week later and a newly orphaned and name-changed kid ends up in foster care in Tokyo.  It stinks but Takaba hardly ever talks about his parents, even when he’s drunk.  If it weren’t for him spilling the beans to me when we first met about his father wanting him to have a normal job and not grow up to be a criminal, I don’t think I would’ve put it together.  Going with that he has at least a bare-bones Family education.  Came to me already knowing how to scrap and fight, pick locks, quick hands, never seemed to shy around guns or violence.  Idealistic, wanted to put away the scum of the earth.  Expose the truth through his camera lens.”  He snorted a little.  “Can’t say he didn’t warn me, round-about as it was.”

Asami just let this new spate of information rattle around, not yet trying to force it into any particular framing.

Just processing.

Deciphering how it fit into the puzzle of Takaba Akihito could wait until later when he didn’t have scum to question.

“What else?”

“His English is fluent but he never uses it or gives away that he knows anything but Japanese.  Mother was English, disowned according to the gossip I could find after digging up the parents’ obituaries.  The only thing that makes sense is the dad buying his way out of the Family but maybe not in time.  Takaba’s camera equipment had always been just a _little_ too nice for some broke college kid and later graduate and his Vespa is bought-and-paid for.  Doesn’t have an ounce of sense sometimes and not afraid of a goddamn thing even when he _should_ be, like you.”  Yamazaki snickered.  “I warned him about you, but did he listen?  And now here we are: me busted and you asking questions about Takaba’s irritating bratty ass.”

“Did anything change recently in his behavior, tell you about any new threats?”

“No, no threats.”  Yamazaki waved that off.  “Until the Security Secretary story broke he’d never really gained much attention for his work beyond his ability to deliver shots no one else could get.  And he was a bit off before that tip came down through the _Times_.  Holed up in his apartment for a couple days, made a trip to Yokohama for the first time in years from what I could tell, didn’t talk to his dopey friends for a couple weeks.  Just generally being a bit weird.”

“Think.”  Asami prompted.  “When _exactly_ did his behavior change?”

Yamazaki counted a bit under his breath, eyes narrowed as he focused.

“A month, give or take a couple of days.”  He shrugged.  “That’s my best estimate, same time as he caught the case for the Security Secretary that had you on his tail.”

“Hmm.”  Asami blinked, a bit pleased at that.  Was _Asami_ the reason for the sudden change – or perhaps return – of behavior?  “Anything else you’d care to share?”

“Just one thing: I don’t know what your interest in Takaba is.  What or how or why you want anything to do with a smart-mouthed brat with a nose for blood in the water that would rival any seasoned bloodhound.  But this I _do_ know about Takaba: you try and trap him, cage him, lock him up?”  He shook his head.  “That’ll break him faster than anything else in the world.  He can’t stand to be confined.  Push and he’ll push back.  Snap and he’ll bite.  But try and lock him up and throw away the key.”  He whistled low under his breath, _still_ remembering the mug shots of the asshole who thought that could manhandle a nineteen-year-old Takaba.  “And he’ll make you regret it with either with a fist to the face or sharing a cell next to mine.  One way or another, Takaba Akihito can’t be controlled and never fails to get a reckoning no matter what it takes to manage it.”

“Thank you, Detective.”  He wrapped one knuckle against the privacy screen, prompting the guards to collect the spineless creature.  Though he would take what information he’d provided under consideration.  “That will be all.”

 _Yes,_ Asami mused, stabbing out his cigarette and lighting a new one as Suoh all-but-tossed the rat back to the guards.  _That would be more than enough_.

For a starting point, at least.

 _Takaba Akihito – or whoever you are – just_ what _all are you hiding my feisty little vixen?_

Not that the secrets – whatever they were – would matter in the end.

Asami would lay them – and their owner – utterly bare.


	6. Chapter 6

** Retrospect **

_“Home: a place where I go, to take this off my shoulders, someone take me Home.”_

_~ “Home” from the movie Bright_

**Chapter Six: Home**

“Fuck.”  Akihito whispered brokenly as he woke up the day after bidding his closest – at his point his only – friends goodbye and the reality of his actions hit him right in the chest.  “What have I done?”

…

_“The situation has been handled.”_   The report was simplicity in itself.  _“The young punk photographer won’t be watching Asami’s businesses any longer…”_

At least, not to sell photos to gossip rags or the _Times_ or even the police.

_“Excellent.”_ Asami’s client was pleased.  _“Please pass on my regards to Asami-sama for the quick remediation of the situation.”_

_“Of course.”_ Kirishima hid a pleased smile of his own.   _“Have a good day.”_

…

“He emptied his go stash?”  Katsurou, Oyabun of the Yoshida Family – and Jirou’s father – arched a brow at the report from his finest enforcer.  “Really?”

Jirou nodded, extending his legs and crossing them at the ankles as he rested in his father’s office before taking the bag at his side to the bank to replenish Akihito’s go stash.  Everyone knew – which since it was all of three of them including Akihito-kun wasn’t saying much – that the Oyabun was going to approve the resupply.  He’d been close to his cousin Hibiki.  Close enough that he’d mourned – but hadn’t fought – when Hibiki had gone to his parents for them to make arrangements with the then-Oyabun of the family, Hibiki and Katsurou’s grandfather, to permanently cut ties with the family business.

Almost forty years have passed since that day where Katsurou lost who was _supposed_ to one day be his second and he’d never stopped missing his white-sheep cousin.

That his cousin’s child had turned out to be a return to root stock wasn’t exactly a shock for all that it – under different circumstances with a different son – _could_ have been vastly inconvenient for the Family had a reorganization of the ranks been in order to accommodate a dangerous – but talented – reintegration of Akihito.

However, Akihito-kun had assured his son that he had no desire to rejoin the Family, taking one complication off of the Oyabun’s plate while adding a whole new pile of worries onto his mind.

“Everything but a letter of explanation and Hibiki-san’s watch.”  Jirou confirmed, having already turned over the letter in question to his father.  Not that the Oyabun would believe it anymore than Jirou had done.  But still: appearances must be maintained.  “That Detective Yamazaki who’s been all over the news apparently tried to set up Akihito-kun and make him a target of the fixer, Asami, who operates out of and runs Tokyo.”

“Hn.”  _This_ Katsurou found vastly displeasing.  He thought a moment then nodded.  “Refill his go stash then put in a call to our contacts in Tokyo’s jail.  I want that _trash_ who tried to harm our Akihito-kun to be made into an effective message for anyone with similar designs on his perky hide.”

“Of course, Father.”  Jirou rose, snapping a crisp bow.  “It will be done.”

“I know.”

…

The strike went off flawlessly, soothing Suoh’s ego which had been bruised – badly – by his men’s continual inability to keep eyes on one Takaba Akihito.

Sakazaki disappeared from his own bed while Suduo…well he’d never been the brightest.

All it had taken for Suduo to vanish from public sight was a whisper from Kirishima that Asami wanted to see him at one of their safe houses.

Suduo had, per protocol that even an airhead like him wouldn’t break, arrived undetected without leaving a trail – though Suoh and Kirishima had double-checked, not trusting him even with _that_ simple of a task after what Kirishima had found in Club Dracaena’s books – and been knocked out with ease before being transported to the warehouse Asami had chosen for the interrogations of both conspirators to run drugs and sex workers through their clubs off both the public books as well as those managing the illicit dealings the businesses were involved in – such as laundering Asami’s illegal earnings.

Clubs in particular were excellent for money laundering, though Asami had never ventured out into that particular business beyond his own needs.

Far too big a hassle for too little return as far as he was concerned.

Suoh bound Sakazaki to the metal grid – little more than a panel from a chain-link fence zip-tied to a steel frame – while Suduo was stripped to his teeny briefs with his hands cuffed and hanging from a hook that barely allowed the tips of his toes to brush the slick sealed concrete floor of the warehouse and gagged.

Suduo’s eyes – their natural brown as Suoh’s team had removed his colored contacts when they knocked him out and thoroughly searched him before hanging him up to wait and watch for his turn under Kirishima’s and Asami’s questioning – blinked and welled with tears as a bucket filled with ice water was tossed over a still-clothed Sakazaki as, intimidation technique or not, no one wanted to see that scum naked and Asami stepped out from the warehouse office when Sakazaki coughed and shivered awake.

It didn’t take Sakazaki long to put the pieces together, Suoh would give him that.

Suduo hanging from the rafters, himself strapped with metal cuffs to a metal frame then drenched in water, and the generator with a regulator and leads attached painted quite the picture of the situation after all.

“Sakazaki.  Suduo.”  Asami spoke their names as if that alone was a death sentence.  Which in this situation they were.  He nodded to his second where Kei stood patiently beside Suoh.

“Gentlemen.”  Kirishima pushed his glasses back into place with two fingers as he rolled up his sleeves precisely to sit in orderly fashion just below his elbows.  “Your guilt has already been determined.  Pleas for your life are useless.  What you _can_ gain from this exercise is simple: a quick death.  Now,” he stepped up and accepted the leads to the generator with a nod to Suoh.  “Who supplied the slaves you each ran through Asami-sama’s clubs?”

…

For once Akihito was too damn tired and worn down after weeks of _gogogo_ to bother losing the tail Asami put on him after he struggled to pull his ass out of bed that morning, let alone get showered, dressed, and strap up plus almost forgetting his wallet.

That he managed to forget his cellphone…well what-the-fuck-ever.

If there was a therapist anywhere in the world who he could talk to and not have them blow off his story as one granddaddy of a delusion, they’d probably have anticipated the let-down that hit him.

He’d been so focused on his planning and scheming and carrying shit out that he hadn’t taken the time to slow down and just _be_.

To process beyond those two panic attacks his first week in his past.

Keeping himself busy had done a damn good job of keeping his mind of the very real and harsh issues his choices had created for himself.

Cutting ties with his friends _might_ have been the right choice and _might_ keep them safe but at the end of the day which was more selfish: cutting them out to protect them or undercutting his non-criminal support system so that he had little to no conflicts in carrying out morally flexible – at best – plans?

He gave a bitter laugh as he woke up from his dark cloud of guilt-induced thoughts when he noticed where his feet had led him on autopilot through his neighborhood in Tokyo to the train station, onto a train to Yokohama, and through the streets that were almost foreign after eleven years away to stand outside his childhood home – still as pristine as it had been that night when Jirou came and scooped him up, moving him before the police could arrive with the news that his parents had been gunned down in the street.

His feet had brought him to the only real home he’d ever known for all that he’d lived with first a foster family and later in Asami’s penthouse for several years.

He stood, hands resting on the top of the gate with its trailing ivy and pristine-condition latch and hinges, just staring at the house with its dark windows and utter absence of life, never turning.  Not at the sound of a highly-tuned engine roaring down the street, the squealing of tires on pavement, or the slamming of a car door.  Just stood and watched the lifeless house that used to be a happy home once upon a time.

His mother’s tea roses grew on trellis and frames all through the front garden.

His dad’s _stupid fucking birdbath_ that his mom had hated was filled with clean water, not a spot of rust obscuring the copper that was oxidizing and turning green with the march of time.

Little things, tiny differences, but it was still _theirs_ , a gift from Akihito’s grandparents years before he was born and maintained by his father’s family long after not a soul lived there anymore.

Booted feet scuffed at the pebbled path for a moment before a heavily-muscled arm slung itself over his lean shoulders.

“We stopped your tail at the train station.”  Jirou told him.  “Just long enough for him to lose you.  One of Asami’s men and here you are, dumbass, without your damn phone or anyway for me to contact you.”

“Forgot it.”  Akihito sighed, turning his face into his cousin’s strong shoulder for a too-brief moment of comfort and vulnerability before he straightened up and Jirou dropped his arm, the two just staring at the empty house for long moments.  “Woke up this morning and it all hit me.  I’m really doing this, Aniki.”  He shook his head, the nickname springing back to his lips without thought, as if over a year hadn't passed since the last time he'd used it, almost able to _feel_ how slow his thoughts were processing.

“Maybe if you told me just what _this_ is.”  Jirou suggested dryly, crossing his arms over his shoulders, his traditional irezumi tattoos showing in the open V of his soft cotton shirt.  “It might help.”

Akihito considered that – for all of two seconds.

“Call it finding myself under the miles of guilt my promise to my dad buried me under.”  Akihito swept a sardonic look around the picket-fence-perfection of the house that wasn’t home.  That hadn’t been home for far longer than a decade.  “Not exactly a recipe for endless days of sunshine.”

Jirou grunted at that.  He’d never struggled with issues of morality.  Of right and wrong.  For him the family code was everything, an attitude that had made his ascension to head enforcer a foregone conclusion while others were bitching about having to learn accounting or money laundering because they had epically shitty aim no matter what weapon they put in their hands.

“The Oyabun approved your go stash top-up.”  He said instead of any attempt at comfort or platitudes.  Hibiki had been good with words – for all the good that’d done him in the end – not Jirou.  “I made the drop myself.”

Akihito nodded, still lost in dark thoughts, when Jirou nudged his upper arm with something he’d taken out of his jacket pocket.

“Almost left this there.”  Was all his cousin told him as Akihito’s eyes turned the size of dinner plates at the sight of the rectangular hinged box with an iconic logo in black on the flawless white leather.  “But then I thought if I ever had a chance of actually getting it on your wrist, Akihito-kun, I’d better deliver your coming-of-age present in person – albeit rather belated.”

“That’s…”  He trailed off, knowing that logo and coloration on a watch box from years living with Asami.  Though the crimelord preferred Cartier he'd had more than one Montblanc in his watch collection.  “That’s not a Rolex.”

“No shit, brat.”  Jirou nudged him again, prompting the brat to take the box and open it, revealing the stainless-steel casing, black alligator band, and red-gold hands of a watch that _definitely_ wasn’t a Rolex.  Though it was expensive enough to be one, without a doubt.  “You’re not the Rolex type, Akihito-kun.”

Taking the watch off of the cushion, he flipped it over revealing the clear sapphire crystal back and showing off the automatic movement, tiny engraving around the edging with simply his birth name in kanji.

No mention of the family or his lack of status there-in or anything else that would give away the connection.

Just an expensive Swiss watch.

A watch that – remarkably – didn’t feel like the leash and collar he half-thought it would or taking his father’s out of the safe deposit box _would_ have been.

Simply an acknowledgement of who he was.

And if he knew _anything_ about Jirou or his father, a hidden tracking device that even Kirishima would be hard pressed to find but considering some of the shit he’d gotten up to – _before_ – that wasn’t actually a bad thing.

“You sure this,” he held up the watch by the strap.  “Is a good idea, Aniki?”

“Someone’s digging.”  Jirou informed him with a scowl, thunder cracking over his brow.  “And if your hunch about that piece-of-shit detective is right then its only a matter of time before your connection is discovered anyway.  At least with that,” he lifted a hand and flicked the watch dangling – firmly – from Akihito’s grasp.  “You won’t be hung totally out to dry when it all blows up in your face.”

“How do you know?”  Akihito frowned, finally buckling the watch into place with a finality that made something _click_ in his head.  If Jirou was right then that was _quick_ , even for Asami.

And it _had_ to be Asami.

No one else with the kind of power it would take to dig into Akihito’s carefully buried past would be interested in him at this point.

Jirou flicked a cautious glance at Akihito-kun’s face then answered, watching his expression closely.

“The Oyabun ordered that the pig-rat be taken care of.”  He shrugged.  “An example.  When I called to arrange it with our contacts in Tokyo there was no problem.  Except that before it could be carried out, the pig-rat was taken out of his cell for over an hour then returned, shaking. Terrified.  From what our contact reported he was questioned regarding _you_ , Akihito-kun, though he refused to admit who by.”

Akihito blinked.

That was interesting.

He’d expected _someone_ to take exception to Yamazaki drawing breath – solitary confinement or not – but he hadn’t expected his father’s family to be the ones to handle it.

Huh.

Even with foreknowledge he was learning new things everyday that he never would’ve even considered possible before.

“Asami.”  Akihito sighed the name almost like a prayer.  “Has to be.”

His cousin’s frown turned into a murderous scowl at that.

“We don’t have the manpower in Tokyo to warn him away as long as you reside there, Akihito-kun.”  He warned though it stuck in his craw to do it.  “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to come home?”

Akihito patted him softly on the arm with the hand now bearing a six-figure-yen watch above it consolingly, then shot him a wicked smile.

“I’m _dead_ sure.”  He chuckled, almost bouncing in place, dark mood dissipating thanks to both the unexpected acceptance from the Oyabun and his cousin as well as proof that while the game he was playing with Asami was dangerous – it was also _working_.  “I haven’t had this much fun in years.  Better than boosting cars.”

Jirou groaned, throwing his head back and his hands up in the air in frustration.  Great.  His little cousin _would_ find baiting one of the biggest-and-baddest crimelords in Asia _fun_.

Troublesome fucking brat.

“Asami is dangerous, Akihito-kun.”  Jirou scolded as the pair turned away from the shrine of a house.  “Not one of your little puppies that you used to lead on merry chases through Tokyo.”

“So am I.”  Akihito’s smirk wasn’t as darkly forbidding as Asami’s but it was a work in progress.  “When I want to be.”

“Yeah.”  Jirou sighed as his little cousin climbed into his Maserati, accepting his wordless offer of a ride back to the train station, a text from his men watching Akihito’s tail reporting that Asami’s dog had been recalled.  “That’s what worries me.”

“Hey, Jirou-san?”

“Yeah.”

“Sell it.”  He didn’t need to specify.  His cousin knew – hell _anyone_ wouldn’t known – what he was talking about.  “Donate the proceeds to a youth rehab center or after school program to keep kids off the streets or something.  _He_ would’ve liked that.”

Since Hibiki's own kid couldn’t keep away from the lure of the underworld, at least maybe their once-happy home could be used to save someone else in his stead.

“Okay, Akihito-kun.”  Jirou shrugged, hands on the leather-wrapped steering wheel easily guiding them through the Yokohama streets.  It was no skin off his back.  The place, while belonging on paper to the family, had merely been waiting all these years for Akihito to give the word on what to do with it.  “Whatever you say.”

…

The acrid scent of burned flesh and hair was heavy in the air of the warehouse, coating the enclosed atmosphere so thickly that even the sudden addition of cordite and blood couldn’t touch it.

Suduo blinked tears away as a pair of Asami-sama’s lackeys cut down what was left of Sakazaki-san.

There wasn’t much.

His – now dead – friend resembled more a lump of charred meat and seared skin than what had once been a person.

Suduo supposed that would make it easier to dispose of him and harder to identify him.

Kirishima was so thorough that he wasn’t certain even dental records would suffice when – or maybe if – Sakazaki was ever allowed to be found.

The bottle-blond rather thought he would be – as a warning not to disobey the ruler of Tokyo more than anything else.

Suoh pushed a button on a remote hanging from the wall, Suduo’s legs buckling under him in a combination of exhaustion, strain, and fear after having been left hanging – literally – for hours and hours as Kirishima worked Sakazaki over while he watched as the winch lowered him to the floor until the hook still attached to his handcuff chain was close enough to the tank of a man for him to release the mental-wrecked man from his restraints.

Asami crouched, filling Suduo’s teary vision with nothing but him, then with insidiously gentle hands removed the bit-gag from between his pearly white teeth, rubbing one callused thumb over the red marks the tight restrain had made on the objectively-beautiful former-model’s face.

Too bad such a face belonged to someone so spoiled and petulant.

Suduo had worked for Asami long enough for him to know him inside and out.  Smart enough to rise from little-better than a whore to a model to one of Asami’s club managers when pouting at cameras got old and a new babyface enchanted the masses.  His adoration had been an ego-boost in the beginning but quickly grew tedious.

That the blond also wasn’t nearly as good of a lay as he thought he was didn’t help in keeping Asami’s attention beyond being one of a hundred other screws or a thousand underlings either.

It was the former model that firmed his off-hand policy regarding fucking the help into a rock-solid rule.

Because it led to situations like this: an obsessed fool trying to get “revenge” over Asami taking others to bed and letting himself be manipulated – which Suduo _was_ cunning enough to realize – by a mid-level grub like Sakazaki.

“Anything to add?”  Asami asked as his hands rested with exquisite gentleness on the back of Suduo’s dyed head.

Suduo looked away but didn’t shield or huddle into himself.

He knew – they all knew – how this was going to end.

At least it was Asami-sama who was going to do it, not one of his minions.

Their former relationship – as shallow and fleeting as it had been – demanded that much, especially since Suduo’s own treachery against his boss wasn’t _nearly_ of the same caliber as Sakazaki’s born at it was out of wounded pride rather than outright malice and greed.

Though the money had certainly helped.

“He tried to interest Liu Feilong in some information.”  Suduo admitted, not needing the sudden tension in Asami-sama’s grip to tell him how the other man took _that_ news.  “The Baishe wasn’t interested and nothing came of it so he tried shopping it to other organizations but he never said who.”

“Are you certain?”

Suduo nodded.  “He was drunk and high when he told me.  Furious.  Called Liu all kinds of things over it before realizing what he was talking about and shutting up.  The only time I asked him later he threatened to kill me if I mentioned it again.”

“Thank you, Suduo.”  Asami told him sincerely, then twisted his hands without warning as a small smile crossed that beautiful waste of a face.

Standing, he wiped his hands with the silk handkerchief Kirishima offered and let the limp form of Suduo Suuh fall to the ground.

“Cremate Suduo.”  He ordered, tossing the handkerchief back to his second.  “And bury him in one of our cemeteries.”

Kei simply nodded and gestured for the waiting men to get to work.

The entire warehouse would have to be sterilized before it saw use again, especially since Sakazaki would have to be dropped in a ditch somewhere to be found as an example.

He held in a sigh as Ryuichi lit up and stalked away, Suoh barely beating him to the waiting car.

Fucking idiots.  Ryuichi was going to be in a _mood_ for weeks because of this clusterfuck.  Especially with that last bomb dropped by the always-obliging – and vicious – Suduo Suuh.

…

Ryuichi wanted nothing more than to show up back at his vixen’s apartment and work out some of his aggression on that perky, cheeky little ass but he didn’t need Kei to tell him how _bad_ of an idea that would be with the mood he was in after listening to the shit pouring out of Sakazaki’s traitorous mouth and that final tidbit Suduo had shared – if he’d known the man at all – as much out of a chance to take a final vengeful swipe at him as much as it was buying himself a painless death.

No one but he and Feilong knew the cause of the tension between them though rumors swirled the Asian criminal underworld on both sides of the East China Sea.

He’d done what he could for the kid, there was no way he could’ve predicted the clusterfuck the situation turned into back then.

A job had needed handling and he’d still been in the process of building his empire from scratch.

The contract offered by Toh had been too lucrative to pass up.

Would that he had and let them all kill each other off instead of leaving one, seriously fucked up, member of the Liu family standing – albeit in prison for seven years – to take over the Baishe.

Feilong had become the dangerous clan head Ryuichi had seen hiding behind his reverence for his foster father and his fear-laced obedience to his shit-stain of a foster-brother.

Too bad for Ryuichi that Feilong also carried a lethal grudge.

Still: Fei was at best an annoyance most of the time but as his power built hand-in-hand with that of the Baishe he’d had to drag from the gutter it’d fallen into during his stint in prison without a clear leader or heir so did his daring.

He’d have to handle that eventually.

For now it seemed that his sense – shaped personally by one of the longest-running clan leaders of the Baishe before he’d been gunned down by his own damn son – held out over his lust for revenge to salve his pride.

Feilong was a problem for another day.

Plugging the holes in his organization took priority though now that the major problem was an unrecognizable lump in a ditch that wouldn’t be hard to manage.

And thanks to Kirishima’s efficiency in lieu of a visit to his tempting morsel hiding away in a dingy little apartment he had the second batch of security footage to review, though a note that they’d been prevented from tailing Takaba into Yokohama earlier that day by the Yoshida family didn’t please him.

Even if it _did_ lend a whole hell of a lot of credence to Yamazaki’s suppositions regarding Takaba’s true identity.

He supposed in the end there was only one or two ways to be certain – and of those only one was a sure bet as he doubted if Takaba _was_ a Yoshida in hiding that any member of that Family would admit it.

Especially to someone with Asami’s reputation.

If anything, such a request could very well end with his vixen whisked away into a new cover and deeper protection if Yamazaki was right.

And that, that wouldn’t do _at all_.

Leaving him with just _one_ path to take if he wanted the truth: pulling it from between tempting pink lips belonging to a feisty little vixen that seemed to live to vex him.

That this dovetailed quite nicely with what Ryuichi really wanted from Takaba: him tied up, quivering, and at his lustful sadistic mercy was beside the point.

…

Despite Asami’s intentions otherwise, his pretty boy remained frustratingly out of reach for more than a week after their first meeting – though for the most part it wasn’t entirely Takaba’s doing.

Business, harsh and unrelenting wife that it was, demanded his focused attention on both sides of his organization as he sorted through the Sakazaki situation.

Which unfortunately for Asami’s libido – and temper – didn’t magically sort itself out with the slime’s torturous death.

The only real bright sides of being kept too busy to handle Takaba personally were the nightly handovers of the video surveillance condensed down into concise – and dick-hardening – clips of Takaba changing, showering, stripping, sleeping, and either working on his computer or leaving the apartment to capture camera shots around Tokyo and the unredacted copy of Takaba’s juvie record that hit his desk a week after they met – and several after he’d requested it.

He had to admit that the faked copy that he’d originally seen was good, almost perfect in fact.

If it weren’t for Yamazaki’s testimony and Asami’s own suspicions he never would’ve noticed it – neither Suoh or Kirishima did after all and they were as familiar, if not more so in the case of his second, as he was with the highest quality of coverups, forgeries, and record manipulations.

It made him wonder, it made him cautious, yes.

But it didn’t make him back off.

If anything it just made his fascination _worse_ as more and more of Takaba’s hidden depths were revealed layer by concealed layer.

Granted, he’d rather do the peeling in person – of his clothes and his secrets along with them – but hard facts did have their place.

The original forged – or manipulated – juvie record read like a standard delinquent: shoplifting, tagging, truancy.  Nothing really _worrisome_ for an orphan.  Nothing that really stood out beyond its existence.

But the real record…Asami’s grin flashed like a blade in the low light of his office at Sion.

The real record was a different story entirely.

Street fights.  Brawls.  Assault charges.  Minor in possession.  Minor under the influence.  Car theft.  Grand theft auto.  The shoplifting, tagging, and truancy were there as well, but the rest had either been swapped out for lesser or different charges or were scrubbed from Takaba’s record altogether.

Only his real name and that of his parents was missing from the report or so Kirishima and their contact at the courts assured him.

With his record Takaba should _still_ be in prison, being moved to an adult facility after he turned eighteen.

Instead someone had kept a close eye – and a steady hand with the bribes – on Takaba Akihito after his move to Tokyo and the start of his life of petty, rage-induced crime.

It was the dates and the fights that gave it away.

A kid raised with a certain skill set and then torn away from everything he knew was destined to act out except in rare circumstances.

Honestly, given what little Asami knew about the situation he was almost impressed it wasn’t worse, though within the first two years the crimes involving pure rage: brawling, fights, vandalism; tapered off and ones requiring actual skill took over with the car thefts, joyriding, and GTA.

Oh yes, his vixen had a bite to him, Asami could see that clearly now.

The only question was whether he’d try and take a bite out of _him_.

Ryuichi thought he could be excused for hoping for it…if only for a chance to put Takaba firmly in his place: under him.

Picking up his phone, he hit the first number on his speed dial waiting only long enough for the click that showed the call had been connected and answered before speaking.

“Clear my schedule for Saturday.”  He ordered.

Kei hid a smile on the other end of the phoneline.

Shinji and Kazumi both owed him a thousand yen.

Kazumi had bet on Ryuichi’s patience only lasting until the end of that night while Shinji had banked on it taking another week to dissipate given the Sakazaki issue demanding so much time – and also having never _seen_ Ryuichi when the boy was around or brought up.

“Already done, Ryuichi.”  Kei told him, a cheeky undertone in his voice that had his friend scoffing and hanging up at being so damn predictable to his friend and second.

It wasn’t like Kei had known him for over two decades or anything.

…

_Saturday, Early_

Akihito was slow coming around, his brain a bit fuzzy and confused.

A scent surrounded him that had him wanting to sink into the mattress under him and never wake up lest it disappear.

The rest of him, however, had an entirely different reaction to the slow drift into awareness: arousal.

Especially as his eyes fluttered open and his brain processed what was an all-too-familiar and at the same time currently foreign sensation: that of fine, soft leather wrapped around his limbs and chest in restraining cuffs and harness.

Home, it all said to him, once he registered the silk painting on the wall opposite him.

Then reality hit him one thought abruptly making itself known at air redolent with traces of Dunhill smoke, Asami’s cologne, and that special _something_ the man carried that Akihito equated with sex:

_Oh come on!_

The fucker had abducted him and tied him up _again!_

_Sonuvabitch_ , but he was going to make Asami _pay_ for this, this time around and if he dared to try and drug him well…the crimelord didn’t need _both_ testicles to be capable of fucking Akihito into the mattress.


	7. Chapter 7

** Retrospect **

Author’s Note: So the title for this chapter comes from the Simon Curtis song “Flesh” which 100% in my opinion narrates the sexual aspect of the relationship between Akihito and Asami especially in this a/u I’m building.

**_The first part of this is basically 1500 words of power-struggle loaded porn, so be warned._ **

**Chapter Seven: Spark of Black**

“Asami you bastard.”  Akihito cursed as he twisted his hands and flexed his feet, testing the restraints the kinky asshole had him wrapped in as his gaze lifted and full-awareness slammed into him over the lethargy and the desire to _revel_ a moment.  Fuck but he’d missed this.  Missed _them_.

But they weren’t _them_ yet.

At the moment Akihito was just the shiny new toy that Asami wanted to play with and wasn’t about to hear _no_ as an answer.

Not that Akihito had any _intention_ of saying no when the arrogant ass was giving him exactly what he’d been fiending for since he’d been dropped back into his anal-virgin body more than a month ago.

“If this is your idea of intimidation, I hate to break it to you but it’s not working.”  He snarked, turning his head and meeting hot gold-tinged whiskey eyes as rough hands manhandled him up onto his knees now that he was awake and aware instead of laying on his side, straps being tightened securing his ankles to the leather binding his thighs and his wrists locked behind his head with similar straps circling his biceps.  Waking up at Asami’s nonexistent mercy wasn’t exactly anything _new_ for Akihito, though things were progressing a bit differently than before.

For one: he’d been brought to Asami’s bedroom instead of a random empty office in one of Asami’s buildings.

For another despite his perfectly justified apprehension no nondescript vial had made an appearance.

Yet.

Whatever Asami wanted to accomplish – other than the obvious – it didn’t look like he was going to use drugs to _assist_ with it, though that change might be strictly as a result of the distinct _lack_ of real objections on Akihito’s part and Asami’s being well-aware that Akihito was attracted to the dangerous – if sexy as sin – bastard.

“Oh?”  Asami pressed his still-clothed body against his boy’s bare backside – Akihito knew the feel of silk on his skin from Asami’s favorite suit shirts after years to grow accustomed to the sensation, though his captor was ignorant of Akihito being affected by his memories as much as the current situation – his heat nearly burning them both up at the stolen touches.  He’d positioned the little pretty facing the headboard, allowing him to stand behind the kneeling boy rather than having to kneel himself on the bed behind him.  That it gave him _complete_ access to that tight little body that’d been driving him crazy for weeks was a side-benefit of the gorgeous sight of all that golden skin on display against his white silk sheets and wrapped in black leather.  “How’s that?”

Akihito held in a shiver at the hot breath on his neck as Asami dragged his nose and mouth up the line of his throat, one hand holding him tight by a bare hip and the other wrapping snugly around his neck and tilting his head back to rest against one of Asami’s strong shoulders, meeting his captor’s gaze.

His green eyes had a glint that was nothing short of wicked as they met Asami’s own predatory gold.

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase: _don’t threaten me with a good time_?”

“Oh _really?_ ”  Asami purred darkly as the implications of _that_ shot straight to his already iron-hard cock.  “Well…”  He chuckled, stepping back to drag his hands down all that soft skin on display, not leaving a single _inch_ of the wicked boy wrapped up so prettily for his pleasure untouched.  “I’ll have to do something about that, won’t I, Takaba…or is it Yoshida?”

Ah.  Akihito bit the inside of his cheek.  _That_ was what this was about.

Well, that _and_ payback for their previous encounters, especially his rooftop escape.

“Considering that you have me naked and bound on your bed.”  Akihito noted dryly, squirming and holding in a whimper as Asami’s fingers ghosted – frustratingly so – over his cock, balls, and ass.  “You might try Akihito.”

“Hmm.”  Asami nipped firmly when sucked a bruise into the side of his boy’s throat.  “I think I like _mine_ instead.”

Akihito tossed his head and moaned as Asami worked him until he was hard and dripping then took another thin strip of leather that had been set aside – just waiting – and tied off his cock and balls, effectively using it as a cock restraint and form of orgasm control preventing him from coming.

“You wish.”  Akihito panted, quivering as Asami bent him over a bolster pillow to keep him from smothering in the blankets since he had no way to prop himself up with how Asami had him bound, the other man dragging his ass backward and revealing his balls and hole to his burning gaze that stroked nearly a caress in and of itself over Akihito’s skin.  “I belong to myself and nothing you do can ever change that.”

“Hn.”  Asami arched a brow even as he coated two fingers in slick lube and started exploring his boy’s ass, teasing the tightly-puckered rim.  Fuck, he was tight.  For someone who by his own admission liked the kind of games Asami played, which his lack of either surprise or protest seemed to confirm after he woke bound with Asami dominating him, he was startlingly untouched as far as penetration went.  Perfect.  The vixen was perfect.  “We’ll see about that, _Akihito_.”

Stretching his pretty boy just enough to prevent tearing, with one hand, Asami unbuckled his belt with a jangle of metal that had Akihito panting in anticipation at the sound of a zipper being lowered as two thick fingers fucked his tight ass, scissoring and twisting and teasing with a pleasure-pain pinching and lighting his nerves on fire.

_Fuck he’d missed this._

Asami stroked his pulsing cock once, twice to spread his pre-cum down the shaft in a thin layer of slick as he took in the sight of a sweat-slicked back, pretty pink rim stretched from his fingers, and a mouth open and moaning under red-tinged cheeks and lust-blown eyes.

Pretty thing, Akihito.

He’d be even prettier completely fucked out, Asami thought, then with a firm, unyielding thrust of his hips drilled his cock deep into Akihito’s hot, pulsing slick channel, intent on putting that idea to the test.

 _“Fuck, Asami.”_   Akihito groaned as the dominant man drilled him deep, unerringly finding his prostate as easily as he’d always done even their very first time, and snapping his hips forward and back, setting a torturous pace just a beat too slow off of pushing Akihito over the edge even with his cock bound.  His hands locked around his own wrists as he writhed under the larger man, those massive, strong hands steady and in total control at his hip and shoulder as Asami hauled him up and back, forcing him back onto his lap and burying that thick cock even farther and harder inside him.

Asami stole his breath, locking them together at lips and mouths in a mirror of the unfaltering thrusts of his cock as the fabric of the pants he was still wearing – and the metal of both belt buckle and zipper – lightly abraded Akihito’s ass cheeks and upper thighs as the soft silken cotton and smooth buttons of his shirt did the same to his back.

“Tell me.”  Asami told him tearing his mouth away from the drugged, wicked tongue on the boy, voice rough with his dark lust for the body pressed up against him.  Surrounding him in turn as he sought to _brand_ his boy from the inside out.  To have Akihito craving _him_ the way he’d been wanting and watching the boy.  “Tell me who you belong to.”

Akihito grit his teeth and let his head fall back against Asami’s shoulder, shaking his head and driving himself down onto that throbbing cock that was torturing him in all the best ways.

“Myself.”  He insisted, though it was lacking a bit of firmness given that it was more of a pant than a stubborn declaration.  “No one else.”

Hissing out a displeased breath at his boy’s obstinance, he buried a fist in that shaggy blond hair, jerking his head to the side roughly and biting down – nearly drawing blood – on the middle of his boy’s neck where no high collar short of a turtleneck would be able to hide it, bucking his hips harshly and making Akihito whimper at the rough burn that hurt _oh so right_.

“Beg then.”  He ordered, hand moving from hair to wrapping around that lithe neck – a gentle threat and wordless gesture of control – the fingers of his other hand digging in on one slim hip and sure to leave bruises.  Marking his boy – whether the brat would admit to his ownership or not.  “Beg and _maybe_ I’ll let you cum if it drips sweet enough from your pretty lips.”

 _“Please_ , Asami.”  Akihito had no problem with that demand.  Denying Asami’s possession wasn’t about _pride_ after all.  It was about setting boundaries even though the other was sure to ignore them anyway.  Still, even almost fucked-out, one had to start as they meant to go on.  “ _Please_ : let me cum.”

“Good boy.  _Cum_.”  Asami stole his mouth once more in a dominating possession of a tongue-twining kiss, lowering the hand on his hip to quickly undo the bow around his cock and balls, bucking _once twice, three times_ then Akihito was coming with a keening cry that was swallowed by Asami as his dominating lover painted his insides with his hot white spend.

…

Assured hands unbuckled leather restraints and rubbed circulation back into stiff limbs after they caught their breath and Asami finally pulled out, the other man laying Akihito gently onto his side with his head cradled by one of Asami’s expensive pillows.

Asami strode confidently from the room, naked and glistening with sweat and cum, returning a few minutes later with at least the hints of white on his abs, half-hard cock, and thighs cleaned off and a damp cloth in hand – warm, of course – to wipe away the rest of their commingled mess from Akihito’s body with gentle but thorough strokes.

Before, that had always – even from their drugged rape of a start – confused him until he’d been around Asami, been in his bed enough times, to recognize it as one of the many wordless gestures that had as much to do with emotions Asami couldn’t – or simply didn’t know how to – express, as it was a way of taking care of what the man considered _his_.

Aftercare.

Gentling him as he came down from the highs Asami brought him too so expertly.

Confusing _as all hell_ for a virgin when it came to both being fucked by a man as well as acts of dominance and submission, let alone dealing with a true sexual sadist like Asami to go with it, but with the experience he’d brought back with him it was nothing he hadn’t expected from the other man.

If anything it was comforting.

This, at least, hadn’t changed even as Akihito was – in ways both great and small – changing their story.

“I don’t suppose you packed me a bag when you stole me away in my sleep last night?”  Akihito finally asked nearly a half-hour after they’d finished their – first but most likely not their last if Asami remained true to form – round and he’d downed a chilled glass of water as Asami reclined back on the bed beside him and lit a Dunhill, watching him as he turned to face the other man after he set aside the glass on the bedside table.

Asami tilted his head towards the small bag sitting next to the bedroom door – one far too small to contain a full change of clothes plus shoes – in wordless answer.

“Right,” Akihito rubbed one palm over his face as he rose with a stretch, not an ounce of bashfulness showing as hot golden eyes watched his every move.  “Raiding your closet it is then.”

“And where do you think you’re going?”  Asami arched a knowing brow over a predatory smirk as his eyes dragged slowly over that perky ass that was still a bit reddened from his belt buckle and zipper rubbing against it before he’d stripped after they both came.  He wasn’t _nearly_ done with that ass, let alone the rest of him.

“Back to my apartment, eventually.”  Akihito sent an arch look over his shoulder at the other man as he crouched and then turned his head back to inspect what had been brought along with him to Asami’s penthouse.  Phone, keys, wallet, shoes.  Yup, raiding Asami’s closet for a shirt would be in order since he distinctly remembered going to bed in just pajama pants.

If nothing else it would make for an interesting “morning-after” walk out of the high-class high-rise.

Might scandalize the neighbors if he timed it right, which had always been good for a laugh.

“What if I have other plans?”  Asami asked idly.

“Oh, I’m sure you have dozens of plans, plots, contingencies.”  Akihito waved an airy hand as he moved the small bag and set it on top of Asami’s wide dresser of later.  “But you _don’t_ own me.  You don’t control me.  If nothing else one thing or another will demand your attention regarding your _business_ ,” he sauntered back over to the bed and laid down, shamelessly showing off the long lines of his limbs and muscles and burgeoning hardon as he propped himself up on one elbow as Asami watched him with narrowed, considering eyes through a halo of smoke.  “And I’ll go back to my life.”

Akihito had to look away or else he’d laugh at the disgruntled – if you knew what you were looking for behind that damn stoic mask of Asami’s – expression his summary of their current situation got him treated to.

Oh yeah, Asami _did not_ like hearing that.

Spoiled ass that he was.

You’d think he hadn’t _just_ gotten laid with anticipation of more to come before Akihito took off.

God forbid he actually have to _work for_ Akihito’s presence and/or attention.

Viciously stabbing out his smoke with a dark look in his eyes, Asami reached over and grabbed hold of Akihito’s wrist, hauling him bodily across the bed to fall face-down over his lap in perfect spanking position.

“I’ve warned you before about that smart mouth, Akihito.”  Asami growled, holding him still with a hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades when the younger man threatened to launch himself off his lap.  “I think it’s time I show you how I punish cheeky, naughty boys who can’t control their tongues…”

…

It was with a sore ass – for more than one reason – and legs that wanted to wobble that Akihito returned to his apartment on Monday morning.

As he’d predicted, Asami _did_ eventually have to send time doing more than fucking him silly or spanking his pert behind.

True to form, the crimelord had spent the last two days attempting to brand and grind himself so deep into Akihito’s mind and body that he’d never fully get free of him – not that he really _needed_ to, but the other man had no way to know that Akihito had been hooked on one Asami Ryuichi before they’d ever – technically – met.

They hadn’t done much talking, not that Akihito had expected otherwise at this point, his body not yet as used to Asami’s insane level of stamina as his mind, forcing him to rest and sleep when he could.

Usually whenever Asami rested himself or had to take a call from Kirishima or Suoh in his office.

Food had been delivered, the best money could buy of course, Asami incapable of _not_ showing off, and that was how they passed the weekend: fucking, resting, eating, and cleaning up only to do it all over again, all of it speckled with more attempts from Asami to get Akihito to admit to the other man’s _ownership_ and a round of possessiveness-induced _punishment_ of varying degrees when he refused.

His name had only been brought up once more, right before Asami left for Sion that morning, with only an arch of Akihito’s brow in response that neither confirmed or denied the comment.

Since _keeping him guessing_ was pretty much Akihito’s current game plan – which was working rather well at the moment though he could’ve done without the round of abduction, but silver lining: at least he hadn’t been drugged – it seemed the best move he could make.

Especially since he wasn’t certain what Asami would do next.

Last time he’d ignored him for several months before the issue with the stolen information from the Baishe had them running into each other’s paths again but since this time Akihito had intentionally worked to amp up Asami’s initial interest and fascination with him, he couldn’t predict whether he’d be ignored until then again, or even what he wanted to do about _that_ whole situation, or if he could expect Asami to pop up at his apartment or whatever else the crimelord could engineer without running the serious risk of Akihito flat-out refusing to come when Asami demanded his presence.

He wasn’t a pet to come when the other man called.

But nothing about their original relationship had come even _close_ to normal, making the new situation difficult if not impossible to predict Asami’s next moves within.

All Akihito could really do was continue to move forward and see how Asami ultimately decided to react.

Really, when dealing with someone like that, that really was _all_ he could do after setting things in motion to begin with.

…

His Asami-addiction sated – for the moment – it was with languid lassitude that Akihito wandered around his apartment searching out the bugs that he damn-well-knew thanks to the ease the bastard had had stealing him from his own bed were strewn throughout the place.

He couldn’t be certain he’d gotten _all_ of them, but the ones he did find at him snorting and rolling his eyes or wrinkling his nose at them before he dropped them in the half-empty bottle of corrosive liquid – aka Coca-Cola – that would destroy the fragile electronics quicker and more thoroughly than just about anything he knew short of actual drain cleaner or straight-up lye.

Controlling, spying, possessive fucker.

Served him right to have his expensive electronic equipment eaten by liquid death – especially since more than one of the bugs he’d found had been wired for cameras as well as sound.

He hoped Asami had gotten enough audio/video of him jerking off in the shower since if he found anymore surveillance equipment in his bathroom he’d shove them up Asami’s tight ass instead of just destroying them – which he elucidated _quite_ clearly and concisely for whatever schmuck had stalk-Akihito-duty that day before taking them down.

That Asami might bug his place _had_ occurred to him when he’d found Asami and Suoh waiting for him.

It just hadn’t seemed worth the fight at the time or the potential aggravation of constantly having to sweep his place.

Now that Asami had gotten a taste of his ass though and had proven in high-definition that his possessiveness had reared its ugly head over Akihito, he needed to do whatever he could to assert his independence from the other man or else he’d find himself subsumed under Asami’s force-of-nature personality quicker than he could say “control-issues.”

Sweep done though knowing Kirishima he’d likely missed some of the equipment in the main part of the apartment where there were more areas to easily conceal them, and too sore – in a good way – to want to do much of anything but rest, he flopped down onto his belly on his new fluffy mattress and flipped through some of his notes on scumbags, trying to interest himself in making a scoop but nothing appealed.

Out of boredom and his half-serious thought of switching concentrations over to art photography, he took his tablet filled with his non-investigative shots around Tokyo and started reviewing them with new eyes as an idea started to tug at his brain though not so insistently that he couldn’t ignore it if need-be.

Perhaps there was a way to make old-and-new come together without _completely_ changing careers.

…

When Kirishima presented him with a smaller-than-usual surveillance report on Takaba/Yoshida – no, _Akihito_ – he smirked darkly, assuming, rightly, that his boy had been too tired and sore from being worked over by Asami all weekend to get up to any of his more active antics.

Though as he listened to the threat the other had issued after systematically clearing his bathroom completely of the devices in place and most of those in the main room, he realized that that was only half the reason for the slim report.

The other half being that with the lack of full coverage of the apartment there was just less material in general.

He’d have to retaliate over the threat, that went without question, though the point was well-made.

More than that: he actually thought Akihito would try and make good on it.

A thought that tempted Asami to replace the surveillance equipment in the bathroom regardless just for the entertainment value but if he’d learned anything from the last few weeks it was to not underestimate the pretty vixen.

And it would be a shame to have to kill him when he wasn’t even _close_ to getting his fill yet of the delectable ass attached to that pretty face and feisty spirit.

“Replace the rest when next he leaves.”  Asami ordered Suoh.  “Leave the bathroom alone.”

They’d both made their points regarding the matter now, and there were times where the risk simply wasn’t commensurate with the reward, especially since having a willing Akihito in his bed was worth _far_ more than continuing to play shower-voyeur.

If he ever _did_ miss the show that was a showering Akihito, Asami was willing to bet that they could come to an arrangement for a live showing instead.

…

“Are you sure about this, Takaba?”  Suzuki-san asked, tapping one finger on the portfolio one of his best investigative journalists had dropped on his desk that morning.

Takaba requesting a meeting out of the blue – in the wake of everything that’d gone on over the last month, including death-threats that the paper had filtered through and forwarded to the police – wasn’t surprising.  That he’d kept up delivering high-quality scoops _after_ the Security Secretary scandal _was_.  Usually even Suzuki’s biggest hot-heads would lay low in the wake of that caliber of scandal.  Wait out the shitstorm in safety.  Then Takaba dropped a dirty cop on his lap to go with the corrupt Diet member and now…

Now a portfolio filled with some of the best work he’d seen out of the young photographer but hardly the sort of thing the _Times_ handled.

Which he supposed was the point.

If things had gotten too hot in Tokyo for the young photographer at the moment, using Suzuki’s ties outside of the _Times_ to get a bit of distance was smart of Takaba.

And it wasn’t like he couldn’t get the kid the meeting – hell after the twin scoops of the Diet member and the cop that got killed while awaiting trial he kinda _owed_ the brat something special with how many copies and runs they’d had to print over the last month.  Sales were up.  The big-wigs were pleased even with the heat over the scandals.

If all Takaba wanted was an introduction to an editor to look at his idea for a book highlighting the best and the worst of Tokyo as seen through the kid’s viewfinder, then Suzuki might’ve gotten off easy this time.

At least Takaba hadn’t gone dark on him like the kid had done for weeks at a time before when the heat from the criminal element he was _constantly pissing off_ grew too dangerous for the blond’s safety.

Something else was going on, Suzuki was relatively certain of that.

Takaba wouldn’t be taking a sudden dip into art photography otherwise but would be tracking down his next crime boss to irritate.

That, however, wasn’t Suzuki’s problem as long as the kid kept breathing and delivering.

Best of all it wouldn’t even cost him any of his markers with his publishing contacts since it was _Takaba_ who wanted to take a break from chasing assholes and not someone like Mitarai.  Mitarai was good enough and would manage to pick up most of Takaba’s slack.  But he didn’t have the raw _talent_ Takaba had that would make the art book – and maybe a gallery showing depending on how Takaba swings his deal with the publisher that owned a book imprint as well as the _Times_ along with a lot of other media in Japan – an easy sell.

That it would keep a talented photographer still “in the family” as it were instead of leaving the conglomerate entirely was just another bonus.

“I’m sure,” Akihito nodded, a bit amused as most of his editor’s thoughts had been written across his face as the older man reviewed the pictures he’d put together for a query.  “Things got a little too close for comfort with Yamazaki and now that he’s been found dead…”  He trailed off leadingly, then shrugged.  “Better safe than sorry.”

“I can forward it to an editor on the other side of things.”  Suzuki agreed with only a moderate grumble.  “But I can’t promise anything, you know that.”

“I know.”  Akihito smiled, a look that turned just a bit mischievous a moment later.  “And it’s not like I’ll stop working for the _Times_ entirely.  If my track record has proven anything its that trouble tends to find me no matter if I’m trying to avoid it or not.”  He winced dramatically as Suzuki-san snorted at that.  “But if I do, we’ll need to up the anonymity aspect.  Things got too hot too fast thanks to Yamazaki, my contacts were saying that it came close to me being set-up to take a bullet.”

“Yeah yeah.”  Suzuki sighed.  “I’d rather lose you to _art_ ,” he sneered the word.  “Any day than the grave, Takaba.  Just be careful, yeah?”  He snorted again, already knowing that wasn’t likely to happen.  “Some of these,” he flipped the book back open, particularly to a few shots showing kids playing in mud puddles next to dirty needles or too-young flesh workers on high-class street corners climbing in and out of limos.  Not enough to embarrass anyone or leave himself open for a lawsuit, riding that line between anonymity and exposure.  Suzuki hated to see him take a step back.  Takaba could find the spark of darkness in the cleanest suburbs or the weakest candleflame in the abyss.  Talented little bastard that he was.  “Aren’t exactly in safe places to be found for someone with your reputation.”

“I’ll try, Suzuki-san.”  Akihito chuckled and rose, shaking hands with the editor, knowing that he’d do his best for him if only to keep him on loose-retainer for criminal investigations that might need his skills than anything else.  “But no promises.”

…

It was funny and odd and heart-wrenching the clarity that removal from everything you had come to know, to count and rely on could provide.

For five years – give or take – his life had revolved around Asami Ryuichi even when he swore up, down, and sideways that he _hated_ the crimelord and wanted nothing to do with him unless it was nailing his ass to the wall for his illegal, immoral, and at times down-right _evil_ part of his business empire.

The distance allowed by hindsight and being blown – however-the-fuck-it-happened – into the past showed Akihito a few things he’d rather not think about too closely at first.

Like that while he could live without a lot of things, even things he kinda-sorta-really _needed_ , he couldn’t or just _wouldn’t_ live without Asami.

The sexy bastard had done too damn good of a job winding himself into Akihito’s very DNA.

He was imprinted inside him right alongside his pale gold hair and mossy hazel/green eyes.

Asami was a lot of things to a lot of people, an expert chameleon, but no one knew him better as a man and a lover than Akihito.  And that man, that lover, he missed so badly that even having a taste of him again for a weekend wasn’t even close to sating the ache inside him that pulsed in time with Asami’s heartbeat as the hot-blooded creature had held him close after taking him apart and putting him back together all over again.  But even so…there were things that Akihito missed that Asami couldn’t be to him.

They were contrary to his very nature.

Asami was possibly the most controlled man Akihito had ever met with emotional walls so high and wide and tough that even now with distance he’d never been allowed before to think things over about their convoluted, complex relationship he couldn’t say for _certain_ whether the other man had ever loved him.

As a lover he was intense and fierce and the ultimate dominant.

But sometimes…

Sometimes Akihito liked to roll around naked in bed and just laugh at the ridiculousness of everything.

Sometimes he wanted to take things slow and aching and sensual instead of hard and fast and riding the edge of pained pleasure.

Sometimes Akihito wanted things that Asami couldn’t give him.

He wanted fun.

He wanted _genuine_ laughter not Asami being entertained at whatever ridiculous shit Akihito had gotten himself wrapped up in.  Stupid memes.  Bad jokes instead of dry, sardonic, dark humor.

Asami was more than enough of a lover and partner for probably a dozen people with his intensity and possessiveness and rare flashes of genuine caring.

But if given the chance – the option – there was more that Akihito would like out of a relationship that would last his life.

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for Asami’s selfish-bastard proclivities, Akihito knew just where to find a happy, fun guy with a dangerous side who _definitely_ wasn’t afraid of Asami Ryuichi as well as a sensuous, deeply emotional beauty that would like nothing better than to tweak Asami’s tail.

Now if only his – unwitting at the moment – suitors were around so Akihito could stop missing his friends and start seducing them around to his way of thinking, that would be great.

Especially before Asami started putting in serious work at branding Akihito’s perky ass.

Since _that_ was a fight he would rather _never_ relive in any life, thank-you-very-much.


	8. Chapter 8

** Retrospect **

****_Author's Note: Aniki - older/big brother or a brotherly figure._

**Chapter Eight: Protection Duty**

Asami Ryuichi was starting to understand that when it came to Akihito that he couldn’t _quite_ predict when, how, or under what circumstances the pretty photographer would show up on his radar, even with the surveillance he kept his vixen under.

What he was also starting to understand was that the boy was like an itch under his skin that no other could sate despite his best attempts that it.

Other pretty little blonds – of either gender – hadn’t managed to burn it out.

An entire weekend buried in Akihito’s tight virginal ass hadn’t done it.

Akihito hadn’t protested even once as Asami put him through his paces: leather, bondage, control, whatever he’d wanted to do to the pretty boy the other had been right there with him and even egging him on with snarky remarks and sassy commentary until he ended up ass-up over Asami’s lap or a bolster with freshly reddened cheeks and thighs.

Under other circumstances Asami would wonder if he’d been played by a professional submissive or masochist (or both) as such reactions weren’t the norm from someone who wasn’t active in that lifestyle – and Akihito wasn’t according to all the information Asami and his people had found on the pretty boy.

After their weekend together he’d had Kirishima do another deep-dive into the background of Akihito – under both of his surnames – and there wasn’t even a _hint_ of him being anything but a vanilla, goody-goody investigative photographer who’d only dated a handful of sweet little girls in the past.

Not even the _suggestion_ of darker urges or desires.

But then…until he’d known what to look for there hadn’t been any clues regarding Akihito’s connection to the Yoshida Family either, making it possible that Akihito was simply an expert liar and obscurantist.

Hiding in plain sight.

Which didn’t _fit_ with the boy Asami had met at first or the wildcat he’d had tied to his bed.

He was confused – and Asami _did not_ like being confused about anything.

In his world it was nothing short of deadly.

A fact that given who he currently had sitting across his desk from him wasn’t being reconsidered anytime soon.

Yoshida Jirou, second and right-hand to his father the Oyabun of the Yoshida Family who ran the criminal underworld in Yokohama and the surrounding region with ties to other families far and wide, highly respected and feared by enemies and allies alike, and a man who’d _politely requested_ a meeting with Asami the day after his people had stopped Akihito’s tail at the Yokohama train station.

Both of them were busy men, setting a meeting – not the least of which revolved around _where_ such a thing could occur without stepping on toes or being tied up in protocol – taking more than a week to hash out as it had been made clear that while not _urgent_ it was still a matter of some importance.

Now it was midweek after Asami had had who _might_ – he still wasn’t certain of the relation or whether the relation was there _at all_ or it was just one giant quagmire of a smokescreen created by a now-dead dirty cop – be a boy related to Jirou-san in his bed and they were meeting face-to-face at the Sion Corp offices for the first time…ever, actually.

Yoshida, like Asami, didn’t fuck around with human trafficking.

They also kept a tight rein on their area of influence.

Combined it meant that they’d never had need to have dealings – for good or ill – with each others’ organizations though in the past Asami had met with the Yoshida Oyabun as well as his heir.

Never his second-son and main enforcer, however.

Which that it _was_ the second-son and enforcer in Asami’s office and not Jirou-san’s elder brother and heir was interesting in and of itself given the givens of the situation as Asami knew it.

If nothing else, this meeting might finally shed some light on a situation that was doing nothing good for Asami’s temper and ran the risk of blowing up – rather spectacularly – in his face depending on what Jirou-san had to discuss with him.

He’d thought – before – that getting what he wanted from the boy would be the end of it as it had been so many other times before.

Akihito, Asami was starting to think, existed purely to spite his expectations.

And as he catalogued golden skin that was marked with _irezumi_ showing above the open top buttons of Jirou-san’s shirt and saw a few familiar features – or ones that were close enough – Asami started to get that burning feeling in his stomach that told him Akihito was about to stymie Asami’s plans once again only this time without supplying such a valuable alternative as the names of two rats in his organization that Akihito had traded him last time in exchange for backing off punishing the boy’s delectable ass.

Introductions complete before Kirishima left the pair alone in the office, Asami and Jirou studied each other for a long moment, each simply taking the other’s measure, then as the “host” of the meeting Asami spoke, breaking the tense silence:

“What brings you to Tokyo, Yoshida-san?”

 _What do you want with me/my organization_ , being the easily-noted subtext that Asami would never be rude enough – at least to someone who didn’t deserve it – to demand.

Jirou watched the other man carefully, not getting much off of him thanks to the impeccable public mask Asami was infamous for, but still picking up a few things.

Such as that even here, in the center of his powerbase, Asami was armed: twin holsters under his suit jacket or Jirou was a goldfish.

Cautious.  Untrusting.  Careful.

Not the sort of person he really wanted showing interest in his little cousin.

 _Especially_ of the type and level that Jirou’s contacts in Tokyo had reported in the last few days.

He had _not_ been pleased to learn that Akihito-kun had gone missing from his apartment for the weekend without it being reported, nor that he’d returned obviously in a different condition than he’d left though not in what Jirou’s contact would consider overt pain.

That he _still_ didn’t know where his little cousin had been for those two days didn’t fill him with joy or peaceful thoughts.

 _Anything_ could have happened to Akihito-kun and they’d still be unaware that he was in danger.

It was simply _unacceptable_ going forward, even if he had to make a deal with someone whose interest in Akihito-kun he couldn’t quantify to prevent it from ever happening again.

Akihito would be _epically pissed off_ if he ever learned of Jirou making a deal involving him with a third party.

That said third party was Asami would either be irrelevant or _so much worse_ and at the moment Jirou couldn’t anticipate which it would shake out as in the end.

Still, when it came down to it his job was to protect the brat as it had been since he was twelve and his father set him the task of watching over their newest family orphan.

And he would do so no matter what it took now that Akihito was once more bridging the gap between himself and the family.

“I have a… _vested interest_ in a certain young man who was recently threatened.”  Jirou told the lord of Tokyo’s seedy underbelly.  “You would know of him as Takaba Akihito.”

Another man would likely miss the barely-there flicker in Asami’s eyes at the name.

A flicker that looked a bit like satisfaction.

Yoshida Jirou, however, _wasn’t_ another man and had been watching for it or something like it.

“Yes, I do.”  Asami sat back, the picture of relaxed control in his massive desk chair.  “A pesky criminal investigative photographer who was almost in a bad way due to poking his nose in places it doesn’t belong.”

Jirou barked a laugh, reaching into his jacket and removing a cigar lifting an eyebrow in wordless question, Asami waving him on with a flick of his hand, the older man – older yakuza – lighting up a moment later as Asami sipped on his bourbon.

“That sounds like the brat.”  Jirou admitted.  “My little cousin always _has_ been trouble.”

“So he is a Yoshida.”  Asami mused, watching the other man over the rim of his glass.  “Reports conflict.”

“He is.”  Jirou nodded, puffing away.  “Not Family but family, you understand.”

“Yes,” Asami drawled.  “I think I do.”

“Akihito was moved to Tokyo as part of the last request of his father.”  Jirou gave him the bare-bones of the story.  “This is his home now and he is reluctant to leave it.  However, when it comes to matters of safety the distance between Akihito-kun and Yokohama can be… _problematic._ ”

“Word can take time to travel.”  Asami allowed.  “Even so short a distance as forty kilometers.”

“Yes it can.”  Jirou nodded slowly, eyes flashing a warning.  “Though it does travel.  Such as word of _your_ interest in my little cousin, Asami-sama.”  He gave the correct honorific for the man even if he was nothing short of disgruntled over the man’s interest in Akihito – and the danger it would bring with it.  As a second there were somethings he just couldn’t do.  And disrespect the leader of a sprawling criminal organization that had fingers in pies all over Asia was one of them.  “Something which, I’m sure you understand, can cause concern given Akihito-kun’s profession.”

“Your cousin is an intelligent young man, Yoshida-san.”  Asami lit a Dunhill, continuing to watch the other man through the smoke that was gathering in the office between Jirou’s cigar and Asami’s cigarettes, thick and indolent as it was in the air, casting a haze over the closed atmosphere like the rumble of thunder before a lightning strike.  “He provided valuable information in exchange for his name disappearing from certain lips.  As I’m sure you already know given his recent trip to Yokohama.”

“He also used to pick fights with those who were notably bigger, stronger, or older than him simply because someone said he shouldn’t.”  Jirou noted dryly.  “I love my little cousin but neither I nor my _father_ are blind towards his… _proclivities_ when it comes to his personal safety.  The Oyabun is prepared to extend a hand of friendship across the – as you say – forty kilometers separating Tokyo and Yokohama to _lubricate_ information exchange across that distance and allow quicker response if Akihito-kun gets himself into another troubling situation.”

“My people are more than capable of protecting one brat if need be.”  Asami arched an unimpressed brow at the tidy little speech.  “What are you _really_ after, Yoshida-san?”

“Capable, yes, that’s not in question.”  Jirou gestured sharply with his cigar.  “But _willing?_   That is often a different matter altogether particularly for men such as us, Asami-sama.  Akihito-kun is my charge.  He _will be_ my charge until one of us dies or he passes into the protection of another who will carry out the duty.”

“How, exactly,” Asami leaned forward, eyes narrowed.  “Is Akihito related to you, Yoshida-san?”  He demanded an answer, a warning rattle ringing sharply in the back of his mind.

Jirou’s smirk was nothing short of dark and dangerous.

“As I’ve said: Akihito-kun is my little cousin.”  He stabbed out his cigar roughly in the cut-crystal ash tray, leaning forward himself and meeting the golden-eyed crimelord glare-for-glare.  “Specifically: my _second_ cousin, a direct descendant of the main line, great-grandson of Yoshida Akio, former Oyabun of the Yoshida Family.”

Asami swallowed a curse at that revelation.

He’d been right.

It was the information he kept _missing_ getting his hands on that was most important for knowing what he was dealing with in his pretty vixen.

Great-grandson of one of the most dangerous – nearly legendary – yakuza bosses in the last century?

Fuck.

Yoshida Akihito.

He was even _named_ for the late Oyabun.

 _How_ he’d come to be a criminal investigative photographer with a distinct distance between himself and the rest of the family Asami didn’t – yet – understand but the fact remained: Akihito wasn’t a distant relation or minor member of a Family.

If it wasn’t for a few events that were starting to come together in Asami’s mind, he’d likely have been tagged as the next second after Jirou, serving hand-in-hand with the current second as he was taught and trained to be the closest friend, solider, and confidant of the current heir’s son who – if Asami remembered correctly – was only a few years older than Akihito himself.

And from what Asami could tell…his vicious vixen would’ve been perfection in the role.

Instead, life had taken him on a different path: one that brought him onto a collision-course with Asami.

Perhaps the pretty brat _did_ know what he was getting into with Asami’s world after all.

“I believe,” Asami tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette.  “That we can come to an arrangement, Yoshida-san.”  Then he warned: “However, Akihito has been found to be unpredictable.  An absolute guarantee of his safety would be most unwise of me to make.”

Jirou chuckled, waving that off.

“You misunderstand.”  He corrected the other man’s assumption.  “I trained Akihito-kun personally.  We aren’t interested in a guarantee of his personal safety, merely warning if certain groups – such as that who attempted to entrap him using the dead detective – think to overstep themselves when it comes to my little cousin.”

Asami tilted his head thoughtfully.  Now _that_ , might actually be possible.  Even better, from all that Yoshida had said and _not_ said, his vixen hadn’t complained of Asami’s taking him in hand to his vaunted family.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Best of all – and particularly for Asami’s interests – Yoshida seemed ignorant that Asami had been involved, heavily at that, in the scheme to set a trap for the pretty little photographer using the unlamented detective.

“Information,” Asami mused.  “Clear lines of communication between Tokyo and Yokohama.”

“Yes.”

“I believe,” Asami agreed in the end.  “That something could be arranged.”

“As long as Akihito-kun remains unaware of it.”  Jirou added the caveat with a self-effacing chuckle.  “Or else both of us will likely find ourselves on the cover of some scandal rag or gaining an extra bullet wound.”

“You’d lie to him?”  Interesting.

Jirou snorted.  “When it comes to Akihito I prefer to consider it a judicious application of the truth.”  He scoffed his sake that had been growing lukewarm as he ignored it in favor of taking Asami’s measure.  “His temper isn’t something to be underestimated and I want him happy not plotting revenge over trying to keep his bratty ass alive.”

Asami would take his chances as the more he learned about his feisty vixen with his tight, hot little ass and sassy mouth, the more he wanted him.

Once simply hadn’t been enough.

But the less the dangerous man across from him knew about _that_ the better as in Asami’s experience when it came to younger relatives, particularly ones spoken of with the fondness Yoshida used with Akihito, men like Yoshida tended to see them in black-and-white with little room for shades of grey or movement from one side to the other.

That Yoshida’s “little cousin” liked rough kinky sex with another man wasn’t likely to be greeted _fondly_ by the enforcer and Asami had little desire to spray the man’s brains across his office.

Kei would complain if he had to call the forensic cleaners for Ryuichi’s office again this month as for all they tried to keep business separate from _business_ at times there was an unavoidable overlap.

…

“What are you doing here?”  Akihito narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the form of his cousin standing in his doorway.

If he had to bet on a criminal coming knocking, he wouldn’t have counted on it being Jirou.

Though, granted, after disappearing for a couple days – totally Asami’s fault the horny asshole – he wasn’t shocked either that Jirou decided to come check on him since he’d missed a couple calls and texts from the older man.

He’d only just returned from his meeting with his – former? – editor regarding passing on his query/mock-up for an art book with his non-incriminating photographs, the best of them anyway, a couple hours before and was considering how he wanted to kill some time with hitting Club Dracaena now that it was under new management high up on the list.

Akihito wouldn’t go home with anyone…but he wasn’t going to turn into a hermit or a pining princess waiting for Asami to sweep in and take over his life either.

“What, I can’t check in on my little cousin?”  Jirou mocked, pushing passed him and into the small – tiny really – apartment.

“Oh, yes, please come in.”  Akihito said in a total deadpan out into the hallway, ignoring his cousin toeing off his shoes in his entryway for effect before tossing the door closed with a crisp _bang_.  “Rude.”

“Family.”  Jirou shrugged, not about to fuck around with his little cousin after spending all afternoon coming to terms with that cold motherfucker Asami.  He scowled, turning in a circle as he took in the place his little cousin lived.  “Seriously?  You clear out your go stash and you live _here_?”  He scoffed.  “I could have you in a nice place in Yokohama in half an hour or even here in Tokyo in a day or less.  Why the _hell_ do you live here?”

Sure, Jirou had vetted the neighborhood and building when Akihito-kun had moved in, but none of that had really showed how small and cramped the apartment was.

“Photography doesn’t always pay well.”  Akihito rolled his eyes at the big sissy.  Damn gangsters.  Give them some money like Asami or his Family and they can’t take staying in a simple studio apartment.  “And I’ve never had to worry about emptying my stash to pay the rent on this place even during lean months with more catalog shoots than news scoops paying the bills.”

Jirou nearly growled at that, hating – as always – that his little cousin was – or maybe used to, it seemed like maybe that’d changed recently – willing to do without things like a nice place to live to keep a promise to a dead man.

Fucking Hibiki.

His cousin never _had_ understood that there was more than black and white in the world but a plethora of shades of grey in between.

“At least it’s not a lot of cleaning.”  Akihito shrugged, only him – and his listeners – knowing that he meant more than one thing by that.  “And it’s not like I need a bigger place for just me.”

“You depress me.”  Jirou reached out and softly whapped the younger man on the back of his head.  “Going to tell me what you were up to that had you ignoring your phone for two days?”

“Nope.”  Akihito didn’t even hesitate.  “But I did put out some feelers to do some more work on the art side of things and take a step back from investigations so that should make you happy.”

“I just want you happy and _alive_ , kid.”  Jirou sighed heavily, then pushed his little cousin towards his closet.  “Go get changed.  I came all the way up here to check on you in person, least I could do is feed you before I go home.”

“Sushi?”  Akihito perked up.  “I thought you were irritated with me, Aniki.”

“I am.”  Jirou snorted.  “But that wouldn’t stop my mother from scolding me if she found out I saw you and didn’t try and fill that black hole you call a stomach.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Wear your watch and something that goes with it.”  Jirou said instead of answering.  “We’re not going for ramen or conveyor belt sushi that’s for sure.”

…

After Jirou approved of his vintage jeans, fancy leather shoes, and silk button down – and of course his Montblanc watch as requested – the older Yoshida ushered him out of the apartment and down to the car that was waiting, complete with driver, for the pair of them.

“You came on business, didn’t you?”  Akihito noted quietly as he climbed into the Mercedes that his cousin used for official purposes instead of his personal cars or motorcycle like the Maserati he’d picked him up at his childhood home in.

“You _are_ my business, little cousin.”  Jirou told him unrepentantly.  “Now we’re going to dinner and you’re going to be seen with me in friendly, familiar company in front of the sort of people who’ll make sure word spreads.”

“Gee.  Thanks.”  Akihito snorted, shaking his head and hiding his face in his hand in exasperation.  “Just what I always wanted: Tokyo’s criminal element knowing I’m connected to the ruling family of Yokohama.”

“You’re the one who emptied the stash, Aki.”  Jirou arched a brow as the car sped through Tokyo traffic to the latest hotspot that would serve his purpose.  “Time to live with the consequences.”  He paused then added: “And we’re _not_ finished discussing that dump you call your apartment.”

“Aniki!”  Akihito whined, yes, _whined_.  “I like my little place.”

“So does the dozen bugs with both audio and video capability I saw in the ten minutes I was there.”  Jirou snorted, having a half-baked idea about how those got there…and not sure he liked the picture that was starting to form.  “At least if you lived in a place with actual security something like that would be a lot harder to pull off.”

“I cleared the ones out of the bathroom.”  He sighed, shrugging.  What was he going to do?  His cousin had him dead-to-rights on that one.  “But anytime I clear the main room they reappear the next time I leave the apartment.”

“Whose?”

Akihito just tilted his head and firmed his jaw, looking away.

“Fine, be stubborn.”  Jirou rolled his eyes as the car slowed, his driver getting close to the restaurant.  “But no bitching when I tell Father and he insists on your moving to a place without such an _infestation_ plaguing it.”

“Yeah, no.”  Akihito gave his cousin a _go-fuck-yourself_ grin.  “I reserve the right to make all the complaints and bitching with you highhanded criminal-types, aniki.  Otherwise you’ll walk all over me at the slightest provocation.”

Jirou squinted his eyes at his little cousin but didn’t bother fighting him on it.

He wasn’t lying after all.

Irritating little shit that he was.

…

Akihito wished he could say he was surprised when the door to the car opened and showed the façade of one of Asami’s properties, but he wasn’t.

No, not in the least.

Granted it was one of the aboveboard business interests of the mogul but it was still one of Asami’s albeit one of the lower-key holdings of Sion Corp.

Fusion was a restaurant that catered to the younger and upwardly mobile with a menu that was an even divide between expensive sushi and, as the name implied, fusion cuisine such as the peri-peri chicken tacos or deep-fried teriyaki rice bombs coated with panko and filled with your choice of a teriyaki marinated filling.

As a result it also covered as a quiet meeting place for underhanded dealings.

Or in the case of Jirou’s purposes to see and be seen for those engaging in said underhanded dealings.

In fine silk and vintage jeans with a Montblanc on his wrist and his cousin in his three-piece suit – minus a tie – Akihito was sure they made quite the sight as the hostess quickly ushered them to a table in full-view of the rest of the dining room.

Including the reception area, which midway through Akihito ignoring all the dirty politicians and yakuza wining and dining as he did his best to empty Jirou’s wallet on sushi, peri-peri tacos, and sake, became rather pertinent as the doors opened wide to much clucking and fussing from the waitstaff revealing none other than Asami Ryuichi with a dainty little bottle-blonde model Akihito had done a shoot for before – and knew just how damn vapid she was as a result.

“Funny thing,” Jirou commented as he leaned back against the booth seat, sipping at his sake nonchalantly.  “But when I was doing some digging into Asami after you mentioned him, one of my contacts mentioned that he seemed to have found a new appreciation for blonds.  Has a new one every night, apparently.”

Akihito cleared his throat softly, suddenly feeling a bit warm under the collar of his fancy shirt.

And the far-too-knowing gaze of his older cousin who was almost – but not quite – of an age to be his father.

“Is that so?”  He arched a brow, shoving a piece of delectable soft-shell crab roll into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

“So they say.”  Jirou flipped his chopsticks rapidly through his fingers, showing off his dexterity as those infamous eyes caught sight of Jirou and his little cousin – which wasn’t a surprise as Asami’s second had made the reservation on his behalf when he’d asked, anymore than Asami showing up in the first place – and took on an expression he could only describe even from across the massive restaurant as _target locked_.  “Except…”  He trailed off leadingly, knowing his little cousin.  Akihito-kun was _so_ going to ask.

And he did.

“Except?”

“Except this last weekend.”  Jirou widened his eyes as if in surprise at the coincidence.  “After weeks – at least three – of a new blond every night picked up from a club or taken out to dinner or just brought to his apartment, or so they say, no one saw hide or hair of Asami-sama for two days.”  His gaze hardened.  “The same two days someone _else_ was missing.  A someone who happens _to be blond_.”  He set down the chopsticks on the porcelain plate with a distinct _click_.

All Akihito could think was if they were at a Yoshida restaurant or one of their homes in private that flipping-flipping act and click would’ve been with a knife and a stab into the table top.

“Oh look who’s coming over perhaps I’ll ask…”

Akihito’s hand shot out and grabbed his cousin by the wrist, holding him down when he went as if to rise and make good on the implied action – and threat.

“Don’t, Jirou-san.”  Akihito let go a moment later after he was certain his cousin understood just how dead-set he was on it.  “Just don’t.  I’ll explain later but for now I just need you to… _not_.  Okay?”

“It better be one damn-good explanation.”  Jirou warned, reclining back against the booth again and picking his sake back up to sip at it, prepared to watch the coming show.  And if the flash in Akihito-kun’s eyes was any sign it _would_ be a show.  “Akihito-kun.”

“It will.”  Akihito nodded, echoing his cousin’s easy body language just in time for Asami and his date to make their way over to the table nearby, Asami seating the model then – pretending and not very convincingly for someone who knew him as well as Akihito – seeming to notice them and coming over.  Alone.  “Promise.”

It also wouldn’t be the truth but Jirou didn’t need that.

Just enough not to slit – or try to anyway – Asami’s throat or bodily pack Akihito up and away from Tokyo before wrapping him in bubble wrap and hiding him away at the family estate outside Yokohama.

“Yoshida-san.”  Asami greeted the man as if he hadn’t just seen him in his office earlier that day and arranged the scene to send a message regarding Akihito’s status – and connections – with him.

“Asami-sama.”  Jirou rose the pair giving perfectly-appropriate bows for acquaintances with a status-disparity as Akihito stood, having a decent idea of where this was going.  “May I introduce my cousin: Takaba Akihito.”

“We’ve met.”  Akihito bowed – notably shallower than his cousin which had the corner at one side of Asami’s mouth twitching at his cheek – in turn.  “Asami.”

“Akihito.”  Asami nodded to the younger man, holding in a smirk at the disrespectful brat’s cheeky behavior.  His hand was _itching_ to give him the spanking he was all-but-asking for.  “No camera tonight?”

“I’m not working at the moment, no.”  Akihito grinned, titled his head to the side coyly, eyes flicking between the airhead pouting over champagne brought by the hostess at Asami’s table and the crimelord in an easy-to-read expression of mocking _Really?_   “No Kirishima-san or Suoh-san following you like ducklings?”

“I’m not working at the moment,” Asami echoed the cheeky vixen, eyes flashing.

“No, I imagine not.”  Akihito mock-simpered as Jirou rolled his eyes and sat back down pouring himself some more much-needed sake if he was going to have to witness…whatever it was his cousin was doing with the leader of Tokyo’s criminal underworld.  “I don’t think Ami-tan would fit in at Sion Corp’s headquarters.”  He arched a knowing brow.  “As a hostess at Dracaena, however…”

“Meow, kitten.”  Asami murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Akihito to hear but no one else as Asami moved in almost invisibly closing the few inches between them and leaving only the barest of gaps.  “Jealous?”

“Of Ami-tan?”  He snorted incredulous, dropping his voice to keep their conversation just between them.  “Hardly.  You’d have to try _much_ harder than that if you think parading something simply decorative under my nose would get a reaction over a weekend fling," like you, went unsaid. "Who has no claim on me or me on him.”  He rolled his eyes, retaking his seat and raising his voice to be overheard once more.  “Have a nice meal, Asami.  The food here _is_ excellent after all.”

Asami narrowed his eyes a fraction, temper sparking at the clear dismissal but not willing to take the brat in hand with his overprotective cousin literally sitting across the table from the sharp-tongued creature.

“I’ll pass your compliments along to the chef, Akihito.”  He nodded once more to Yoshida-san then sent a gesture to the hostess.  Their meal would be comped, which if nothing else would grind in the message of familiarity he and Yoshida were sending regarding the bit of trouble masquerading as a fuckable piece of ass, and maybe irritate said piece of ass while he was at it.  “Have a good night.”

…

“Asami.  Scene at the restaurant.”  Jirou snapped out after a large meal and – probably too much – excellent sake.  “Explain.”

“Why?”  Akihito groaned, lolling back against the soft leather of the car’s bench seat.  He _may_ have eaten too much.  At least he’d refrained from downing sake like Japan was going to run dry like his cousin.

Unfortunately for him, Jirou-san had a much higher booze tolerance than he himself possessed.

“You already have an idea of what happened.”  Akihito folded his arms petulantly over his chest with a pout.

“An idea, yes.”  Jirou grimaced.  “Which given that you’re my little baby cousin I really wish I didn’t have in my head, thanks, Akihito-kun.”

“Yes: we’ve met.”  Akihito explained concisely.  “I was casing his clubs and found some information, etc.  We made a deal.  Apparently Asami has a _thing_ for young guys with smart mouths so…”

“You had a fling with Asami Ryuichi.”  Jirou groaned, burying his face in his hands, especially in light of the _arrangements_ he just made with the man in question.  “Fuck.  _Fuck_ , Aki.  What the hell were you _thinking_?  Him?  You, you _know_ how dangerous he is.  If you wanted a guy why wouldn’t you go for someone who doesn’t carry a large bullseye on their back?  Literally, _anyone_ would be a safer choice for a fling or whatever…  That guy, even for someone in the life, has a reputation.  He’s a _user_ , Aki.  Bodies are totally disposable to him.”

In more ways than one.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”  Akihito shifted uncomfortably, distinctly _not_ meeting his aniki’s searching – so damn confused – gaze.  “I knew all of that before I baited and taunted him.  Set myself up as something he wanted to hunt and chase and tame if he could manage it.”  He blew out a shaky breath.  “Which he hasn’t and probably why he’s both been doing a run on all the blonds in Tokyo _and_ came over to the table tonight.  Wanted to rub my face in it a little that I’m not anything special if I had to guess.”

“Which didn’t work.”  Jirou thunked his head back against the headrest.  He was _not_ drunk enough for this bullshit.  “Since it made it rather clear that the opposite was pretty fucking apparent.  And you were poking his temper with all over again.”  He groaned, realizing.  “You have a _thing_ for him.”  Jirou was more than a little horrified, mainly for the previously recited laundry list of reasons to not want anyone he gave half-a-damn about involved with Asami, plus more that he figured Akihito was already aware of and didn’t bother going over.  Like the very-obvious crimelord of Tokyo issue.  “Why can’t you be fifteen still?”  He complained.  “Your love life was a _lot_ simpler to navigate when you were all hormonal and stupid instead of apparently thrill-seeking and suicidal.”

Akihito jerked a shoulder, blushing.

“Apparently I have a type.”

“Dangerous?”  Jirou’s tone could pass as part of the Sahara.

“That too.”  Akihito winced.  And no, he wasn’t going to explain what he meant by that because there was no real way to spin “crimelords” without going into shit he still didn’t know how to explain.

“Aw fuck.”  Jirou didn’t know if he really wanted the answer to the next question.  “Who else?”

“No one I’m going to tell you about or are even in the picture at the moment.”

“Well.”  Jirou sighed, already trying to figure out how long he can keep Akihito’s little affair away from his Father before it blew up in all their faces.  “At least you emptying your go stash and stepping back from investigative photography makes sense now.”  He smirked, rolling his head over to stare at his _not-paying-attention-to-you_ little cousin who was still staring out blindly at the Tokyo streets zipping passed.  “You know you _really_ have to move now, don’t you?”

 _“Aniki_!”  Akihito whined, going boneless in protest against the seat of the car.  “He’ll just bug the next place too so why bother?”

“Because then I can say to my father, with utter sincerity,” Jirou’s tone was _biting_ despite his former inebriation.  “That I took every step I deemed necessary to secure your protection, little cousin.”

“Fine, pull _that_ card.”  Akihito muttered, scowling.  “It won’t work forever, Jirou-san.”

“Unless you move in and officially become the problem of, say, Asami.”  Jirou snorted at the very _idea_ of the ultimate playboy settling down no matter how interested he seemed to be in Akihito-kun.  “Or another able to offer the same or similar level of protection: yes.  Yes it will work forever.”

Well, Akihito smirked internally.  At least that was _something_.

A bright light at the end of the hideously-protective Jirou-san tunnel.

Though trading it for a super-possessive Asami black-hole might not be an equitable trade…

A consideration for another day.

For tonight, he had a show to put on for who was certain to be an infuriated Asami, if the crimelord didn’t just show up or have him abducted again, and then his cousin likely returning soon to play realtor.


	9. Chapter 9

** Retrospect **

_Author’s Note: So the song referenced here wasn’t out yet at the time of Finder being published but it just fits too damn well for me to leave it out._

**Chapter Nine: Slight of Hand**

_Two Weeks Later:_

“Not a chance in hell.”  Akihito announced to Jirou-san, the doorman, the stranger walking down the street, _the sky_ ; as they pulled up to his cousin’s latest shot at finding a better place for Akihito to live that he would actually agree to.

Jirou’s main argument was one of safety and security.

That he didn’t like his little cousin living in a glorified shoebox was merely a side benefit.

Akihito’s rebuttal of being a grown-ass man who could make his own decisions regarding his personal safety and agency, whether or not Suoh was breaking into his current apartment every few days to replace the bugs he was getting no-little amount of entertainment in taking down, sabotaging, and/or destroying in new and interesting ways didn’t get much traction against his overprotective – and armed – minder however.

His current personal favorite way to act out against Asami’s surveillance was blasting the song “Solo” by Clean Bandit while playing solitaire on his laptop in the bathroom with earplugs in.

Jirou hadn’t been amused when he’d been late meeting up because of that newly formed habit.

Running in second place was taking down each and every monitoring device that he could find and sending them by overnight delivery to Asami’s penthouse.

It might be a passive-aggressive game but at this point both of them were _way_ too invested to back down.

Especially since Asami had yet to stop with the constant front-page manwhoring with blonds of both genders.

The fucker.

He was _so_ going to pay for that bullshit.

In the meantime, if Akihito _conveniently_ failed to notice the resurgence of the surveillance devices until _after_ he’d stripped to his skin, splayed himself out onto his bed, and tossed one off for the cameras to pick up in full HD glory, he considered that a bit of well-deserved tit-for-tat.

Another version of him that hadn’t lived through all _this_ version of himself had never would’ve done such a shameless thing.

As it was, Akihito misplaced any sense of shame somewhen around Yuri Arbatov trying to strangle him because he was so tightly closeted.

He wouldn’t then nor would he now be made to feel shame or remorse for something that _wasn’t_ his fault no matter that Yuri had blamed him up one side and down the other for “tempting” him.

Not that Yuri had had to live with that _shame_ over his desires for very long.

Asami had killed that fucker and good riddance.

Though this time he couldn’t see things working out in _quite_ the same fashion, something likely still needed doing about creepy uncle Yuri lest another boy pay the price for Yuri’s self-hatred.

“What’s wrong with _this_ place?”  Jirou asked, a deep tone of frustration rampant in his voice.  In the last two weeks he’d gotten no more information about the possible-maybe fling between Asami and his little cousin, but he _also_ hadn’t made any headway with convincing Akihito to move into a new place.  “You haven’t even seen the apartment yet, how can you _already_ have an objection?”

If it wasn’t the location Akihito-kun didn’t like, it was the view or the floorplan or or or.

Jirou was one more ridiculous objection away from bodily packing his little cousin up and dumping him in his mother’s lap to deal with.  If his “aunt” didn’t talk some sense into him, the scary Oyabun’s wife would.  Still, Aki hadn’t _quite_ frustrated him to that point of wishing such torture onto him.  Yet.

_Yet._

“This is Asami’s building.”  Akihito crossed his arms, slumping back against the passenger seat.  He knew he was the very picture of petulant recalcitrance but in _this_ case he felt it was perfectly justified.  “Move me in here and you might as well slap a gift wrap bow on my ass.”

Jirou opened and closed his mouth a moment then slumped with a groan over the steering wheel and turning the key back over in the ignition.

There weren’t many points Akihito-kun could’ve used that had his cousin immediately capitulating but that…that was one of them.

“Fine.”  The older man conceded with a harrumph, already steering back into Tokyo traffic – though only a few blocks away before pulling up outside of another high-security high-rise in the same neighborhood.  “What about this one?”

Akihito craned his head up, eyeing the building up and down and trying to remember if it was one of the many real estate holdings of Asami’s – which had actually made up the bulk of Jirou’s “alternate lodging” options and the basis for most of his complaints.

Not that he’d told his cousin that.

Somehow he didn’t think Jirou-san would take Asami trying to manipulate Akihito via Jirou well _at all_.

In _theory_ Asami could be totally innocent of said-attempt at manipulation.  He _did_ own a significant chunk of Tokyo real estate.  A lot of it _was_ centered around his own penthouse and the Sion Corp offices.

In reality there was _no fucking way_ Asami wasn’t well-aware of what Jirou was trying to do and had either paid or threatened or whatever-worked to tilt the listings given over by the agent in favor of his holdings.

“Seems fine.”  He finally allowed, well-aware that at this point he was well-and-truly pushing his luck and his cousin’s tolerance of his antics to the limit.  “Which apartment?”

“Middle of the building.”  Jirou said smugly.  Which meant lots of stumbling blocks for causing trouble because of lots of opportunities to be caught out by security and nosy neighbors alike.  “Open loft floorplan that takes up two stories on one side.”

“Huh.”  Akihito scratched absently at his jawline.  He’d never lived in a loft before.  Penthouse: yes.  Loft, no.  “Sounds interesting.”

“Don’t jump up and down in excitement or anything, brat.”  Jirou rolled his eyes and made sure he had the keys the real estate agent had given him.  Money talked.  In his case money meant the agent let him review a list of available properties and take the keys for any he thought might work and return the rejects later.  Since whatever property was eventually chosen by his little cousin was going to be bought in cash, it was simply good business sense on the agent’s part if they wanted their percentage plus a promised bonus when – _if_ – Akihito ever found a place he could tolerate.  At this point Jirou wasn’t even hoping for like.   “C’mon.  Let’s get whatever new complaints you’ve come up with over and done with before we waste the day.”

Again.

“Whatever you say, aniki.”  Akihito’s tone was sickly-sweet.  “You’re the boss.”

“Fucking brat.”

“Domineering asshole.”

“Get out of the car, Akihito-kun.”  Jirou growled.  “Before I choose _for you_ and haul you up the stairs over my shoulder for your new neighbors to point and laugh.”

…

The loft – damn his cousin – was perfect.

He loved everything about it from the exposed brick to the wooden floors to the copper pots hanging from a rack over the six-burner stove.

That the place was already furnished in a fashion Akihito might’ve chosen on his own clued him in that while the loft was one of the last places on Jirou’s long list of options for a more “suitable” home for Akihito, it was probably the front-runner.

Or else it had been staged in such a way to shut up any of Akihito’s complaints that Jirou had listened to, each and every one, and end the agony that was Jirou hauling Akihito all over Tokyo whenever he could spare more than a couple hours from his position as his father’s second.

Akihito also knew that increased security or not, Asami was going to have the place under surveillance as soon as he moved in – if it wasn’t already wired to hell and gone.

At least the increased square footage, appliances, and fixtures would give Suoh and/or Kirishima new challenges – or maybe not – for where to plant the bugs to best keep an eye on him, god knew he’d gotten tired of the same hiding spots at his studio apartment though it did give him a chance to quietly heckle Asami via retaliation such as the “Solo” prank or mailing the intact equipment back to Asami.

Eh, he was running out of ideas on how to torture Asami and his security goons anyway.

Even just a few days without needing to worry about it would be a nice break from dealing with the asshole’s controlling behavior which is what it came down to in the end.

Asami _hated_ not knowing things and having information – and people – operating outside of his control, _especially_ in his territory.

That Akihito had zero intention of being controlled – outside of sex – was a fact Asami was just going to have to come to terms with eventually.

Though given how equally stubborn they both are Akihito wasn’t praying for any movement on that front anytime soon.

“How much?”  Akihito asked, arms crossed over his chest as he stared out at the darkening Tokyo night.  It wasn’t the same quality of a view that he’d have in a penthouse but it was leagues above the concrete wall of the next building his other place had – except when it rained and he got a treat in the form of watery rivulets running down the glass.  He wasn’t quite certain he wanted to hear the answer to that question but his pride demanded he ask it anyway.

Jirou was going to brush it off – as anything to do with maintaining Akihito’s lifestyle, including all attempts to lift said lifestyle up a few levels to one more “appropriate” for him according to Jirou and his father – as part of his inheritance.

Akihito would like to know the number anyway.

Eventually his investments would pay off and he’d like to know how big of a donation he should make in the Yoshida family name to a random non-profit since they’d never go for him actually repaying them for the loft condo.

Jirou rattled off a number including the furnishings that made Akihito wince then came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his little cousin, trying – and likely failing considering the vastly different ways they saw the world – to see what Akihito-kun saw worth staring out at in the Tokyo night.

“Will it get you to back off?”  Akihito asked wearily, tilting his head up just a tad to look at his cousin.  Ever since they’d gone to dinner at Fusion and Asami had put on that little _show_ Jirou-san had been encroaching on Akihito’s privacy in a way he hadn’t dared since the worst stretch of Akihito’s angry-crime-spree after his parents’ deaths.

“You’ll be safer here, Akihito-kun.”  Jirou arched a brow at the little brat.  “Which was rather the _point_ of this whole thing if you’d care to recall.  We’re _both_ just following orders at this point, Aki.”

“I know.”  Akihito blew out a heavy breath.  “But I _can_ take care of myself, aniki.  Will you _please_ tell cousin that?”

“I’ll try.”  Jirou shrugged, not willing to bet on his father going for it.  None of those in the know – which had recently expanded thanks to certain decisions on Akihito’s part – including his father and elder brother, were pleased with the inherent dangers that came with Akihito having even a shallow relationship of any sort with Asami Ryuichi.  That there might be _more_ to it than that…yeah.  He could try to back off his father from keeping a close eye on Akihito but there wasn’t that great of a chance of it actually lessening the watch – albeit carried out from a distance – the Oyabun was going to keep from now on over Akihito so long as he remained in territory outside of the Family’s direct control.  “No promises.”

“I’ll wear my watch.”  Akihito promised, dead-serious.  “And not tamper with the tracker I _know_ it has to have.  I’d like to be able to go to the gym or dancing or to meet with a publisher,” as he’d done a few days before, Suzuki-san being as good as his word regarding Akihito’s work.  “Without having to dodge three different guards and running across rooftops.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”  Jirou reached out and ruffled his little cousin’s hair.  “But we can’t control what Asami does, Aki.  If you want him to back off you’re going to have to convince him yourself as long as you live in his territory.”

Akihito snorted.  “So sometime after the end of the world then.”  He gave an exaggerated groan, then flicked a devilish grin up at his cousin.  “Good thing _someone_ insisted I learn parkour, hey?”

“A quite wise and important decision, yes.”  Jirou nodded with equally exaggerated gravitas, then swung an arm around Akihito’s shoulders.  “Do you really like it?”

“Yeah.”  Akihito cocked his head to the side, lifting his hands up into a makeshift rectangle to mimic a viewfinder.  “Yeah, I think I really do.”

“ _Finally_.”  Jirou heaved a massively relieved sigh.  “I’ll arrange everything with the realtor and moving your shit.”

Especially the safes.

Those can’t be moved from place-to-place by just _anybody_ after all and they couldn’t just be shoved in a cardboard box either.

“Thanks, Jirou-san.”  Akihito smiled up at his cousin, giving him a sincere half-hug since the older man was still hanging on his shoulders.  “Really.  Thanks.”

“Anything for you, brat.  Even when you’re being a picky pain in my ass.”

“Somebody has to keep you on your toes.”  Akihito snarked then snickered as he dodged the swipe of Jirou’s free hand, spinning out of his hold.  “Everyone else around is always afraid of you.  Wouldn’t want you to get a swelled head.”

…

Moving the safes was only a minor headache in the end as money smoothed over any number of issues of everyday life – such as moving house.

A few modifications the loft already came with had made it one of Jirou’s top choices, modifications he was quick to show off to his little cousin once the stubborn brat agreed to the move and signed on the line, becoming the sole owner of a thousand square feet of high-valued Tokyo property.

The loft had an open floorplan with the upstairs solely containing Akihito’s bedroom, a hidden panel in the far wall one of the “modifications” that had impressed Jirou.

Though Akihito had to admit: being able to hit a hidden button on the wall and reveal a four-foot by three-foot space that was two feet deep in the interior wall of the bedroom loft was a _lot_ more convenient a location for his go bag and spare gun than a safe hidden in a closet.

That the King-sized bed he’d been “gifted” by one of his Yoshida cousins – Jirou’s nephew or so the older man said – as a housewarming present had been set up right underneath the moving panel was just icing on the cake.

Jirou’s own housewarming present – other than _all of it_ – was a bug-sweeping device that would make Akihito’s life considerably easier when it came to his ongoing passive-aggressive war with Asami.  At this point he was half-certain he was fighting with Suoh and Kirishima’s obstinacy as much as Asami’s possessiveness, but that wasn’t anything he was going to share with his already overprotective cousin.  Jirou was one snapped-nerve away from shooting Asami was it was.  Adding fuel to that fire was _not_ a good idea, especially since the older man had a decent idea – as much as he could anyway – that there was more going on under the surface between his little cousin and the crimelord of Tokyo than either would admit to.

His cousin had also followed through on lowering the active protection covering Akihito in the wake of no more active threats – well, above and beyond what was implied by Asami’s interest in him – allowing Akihito to live without looking over his shoulder every two seconds for guards.

He didn’t know what agreement – that there _had_ to be one in place was blatantly apparent no matter what Jirou and Asami thought they’d managed behind his back – Jirou had in place but he was glad to stop wasting time running Asami’s guards all over Tokyo for shits and giggles when all he wanted was to hit the gym or go dancing while he waited for events to align again to bring him into a position to take the next step forward in his plan.

Akihito was always aware that when dealing with the sort of men he was planning on snaring for his own that they could flip the script on him in an instant and leave him floundering – or dead.

Asami had certainly done so with both abducting him again _and_ his visible spate of blonds in the tabloids.

They were blessed to live in a society – a reality, maybe, given the fucked up situation that had given Akihito a second chance at life – where it didn’t matter if Asami Ryuichi, CEO of Sion Global had a man or a woman or someone who didn’t use either of those identifiers hanging off of his arm.  No one cared.  Heirs, if necessary, in this day and age could be acquired through a surrogate if blood was important.

But when it came to who someone slept with or took as a lover or married, nobody cared.

Diseases, on the other hand, _did_ carry a stigma which was why during one of the times when Akihito had a visible tail he’d yet to give enough fucks to shake – they obeyed a random schedule that likely only Kirishima or Suoh knew by heart or could guess at a pattern within – for the day, he made damn sure to go visit a clinic for bloodwork.

Asami was a fucking selfish asshole, forever and ever amen.  Akihito was pretty sure that if you opened up a dictionary under the phrase “selfish asshole” you could find Asami’s picture.  That said, thanks to his previously-acquired information Akihito knew before Asami started bedding every blond in Tokyo that he’d been disease-free.

His arrogant asshole of a crimelord _didn’t_ have that same assurance regarding Akihito’s health and he damn well wanted to make the fucker _think_ for two seconds.

He’d enjoyed what they’d done in bed – that had never been in question – and barebacking had always been a filthy little kink they shared.

That _didn’t_ mean that Asami should’ve been so damn cavalier about it.

The man had never even _checked_.

A fact which when Akihito processed it later along with Asami’s promiscuous behavior ever since, made his blood fucking _boil_.

Akihito would like to think he was special and different and that Asami’s choice to forego the simplest of protection offered to a man who was currently being indiscriminate with his sexual partners with Akihito was a deviation…but he wasn’t going to risk it either.

And if all it took for Asami to _slow down_ for two second and think about the danger he was putting – potentially anyway – himself in was for Akihito to have a blood draw and wait for the test results, he’d do it, even if he’d always found the forms you filled out for a STD test panel horribly invasive and rather embarrassing.

Asami wasn’t his at the moment.

Not yet.

But if just him going to get tested – implying that he didn’t trust Asami’s actions from the weekend they spent together – was enough to wake the bastard up, he’d suffer through it a hundred times over before risking losing him all over again to something that could’ve easily been prevented with a bit of caution.

For someone as preternaturally controlled the rest of the time, it was a lapse that Akihito had a difficult time reconciling with the man who had once-upon-a-time spent so much time sharing his bed.

…

Asami stood at the large bank of glass two-way windows/mirrors overlooking the main dancefloor listening to Suoh run down the latest report on what his interesting little vixen had gotten up to that day.  With the pretty thing being moved by his cousin – and _that_ had added a dimension to the situation Ryuichi hadn’t been prepared for before he’d realized who Akihito _was_ – they had to rely once more on simple observation.  Which was probably for the best.  Ryuichi was afraid that if the invisible-but-real prank war of Akihito versus Suoh and Kirishima continued much longer that Kei would eventually turn permanently purple.

Puce was _not_ an attractive color on anyone and made Ryuichi half-worry for the state of his friend’s health.

That no matter where or how their men hid the monitoring devices in Akihito’s old apartment the boy would find them and either torture those in charge of monitoring him or return them in new and interesting ways had been a lesson in non-stop frustration between his head of security and his head of intelligence/logistics.  Combined Suoh and Kirishima had _never_ run into someone who could thwart them not only with seeming ease but with _consistent_ ease.  At first it had irritated Asami as much as it had his men.  Who was this little _boy_ who challenged them?

Then he saw the hidden humor of watching Kazumi and Kei run around like headless chickens trying to counter Akihito and sat back prepared to be entertained.

And entertain Akihito certainly did.

Though thankfully for the health of the guards and analysts in charge of reviewing the security footage from Akihito’s old apartment, they’d quickly learned the boy’s tells of when he was going to do something – such as himself – that would have Asami wanting to pluck out their eyes for _daring_ to view him in all his debauched glory, a sight he was quite jealous of.

That didn’t mean Asami didn’t plan on setting up monitoring of Akihito’s new apartment…he simply hadn’t felt it currently worth the effort when with a judicious application of funds and hacking Kirishima had gotten them access to the building’s security system, one of the few in the area not already owned by Asami personally or by Sion Global.

It wouldn’t provide high-definition videos of his filthy little vixen self-pleasuring but it also wouldn’t start a war with the Yoshida Family so in this case Asami was willing to let the boundary line be drawn at the threshold of Akihito’s new apartment door.

What all the surveillance of his boy _had_ failed to provide him with was any sort of reaction at all to Asami’s highly-publicized “blond binge” as one tabloid reporter put it.

“Stop.”  Asami frowned, turning his head from watching the object of his latest obsession dancing below him.

Akihito was a bright spot of prettiness in the throbbing mass of bodies on the dance floor from his plain white t-shirt that clung obscenely to his chest and stomach and back, nearly transparent from his healthy sweat, hips making Asami think of nothing but sin wrapped as they were in black vintage jeans as they rocked against hands that stroked and touched but would be batted away with a playful swat and a grin if they tried to cling.

“Say that again.”  Asami demanded, sipping at his bourbon and frowning at Suoh as the head of security stopped at his command and double-checked the information on the tablet he was using to access the electronic reports.

“At 13:12 this afternoon Takaba-san,” which was what he was still known as publicly save for to Asami, Suoh, and Kirishima; though perhaps their friend Kuroda might have been informed as well regarding the young man’s identity.  “Attended a clinic frequented by many students and young adults before leaving less than an hour later with a bandage in the crook of his elbow.  From what the guard was able to discover, he had gone for a blood test.”

“Which clinic?”  Asami asked, still frowning as he tried to think of any reports of health problems his pretty vixen had and couldn’t think of any either in his records or mentioned by Yoshida-san…and the yakuza _would_ have mentioned it if any existed as he expected Asami and his men to help keep Akihito safe in Tokyo.

“Ah,” Suoh rattled off the name quickly, then frowned himself.

For good reason.

That particular clinic was known for two purposes among the young people of that neighborhood and those surrounding it: pregnancy/family planning issues and those of sexually transmitted diseases.

And as Takaba had left after a blood test…there really was only _one_ thing that could’ve brought him there.

Especially since for certain diseases you had to wait a certain amount of time before they would show on a STD test.

Then Suoh ducked more out of instinct than necessity as the crystal tumbler in his friend’s hand was thrown with the full-strength of Asami’s temper behind it at the far wall, crystal shattering and bourbon flying.

Temper riled and nowhere near abated by the minor act of destruction, Asami glared at nothing and strode from the office, already snapping out an order to Suoh and the rest of the guards to bring Akihito to his limo where he’d be waiting.

And to think, mere moments before he’d been entertained – smug even – over the little brat.

But this, _this_ insult was not to be borne…especially if it turned out that Akihito’s _testing_ wasn’t a result of his affair with Asami but another.

If such were the case well…Akihito wouldn’t find him nearly as _forgiving_ of his misbehavior the second time around.

…

The moment Suoh stepped out of the shadows and started making his way through the bodies – that parted before the massive man like a hot knife through butter – let alone the worried shadows in the bodyguard’s dark eyes, Akihito knew he was about to find out for himself – and hopefully not painfully though he wasn’t ruling it out – how Asami reacted to Akihito getting himself tested after their weekend of depravity.

Locking eyes with the man-mountain, Akihito simply nodded and started working his way out of the crush of humanity, ignoring hands that stroked and touched and caressed and grabbed as he made it to the far edge of the dance floor where Suoh waited, allowing the bodyguard to escort him without a fight.

There wasn’t much point.

In a place like Club Dracaena where Asami was all but the uncrowned king and there were only a few exits Akihito could easily access why bother with trying to evade the guards when the clubgoers would be as much of a hindrance for him as they would be for Asami’s men.

Besides which: Akihito while not tired of playing cat-and-mouse with Asami was ready to start moving things along to the next act.

He wasn’t best pleased with being ignored for weeks on end.

Between dodging the guards and dealing with the bugs infesting his former residence, he’d done a damn good job of acknowledging Asami even in a roundabout way.

What had Asami done in turn?

Fucked any twink with a bad dye job in Tokyo.

If it weren’t for his plan, Akihito would’ve _already_ run with some pictures that would create difficulties for Asami in retaliation if nothing else.

But a plan he _did_ have and he wouldn’t give up on it at the first bit of bad behavior from his thickheaded asshole of a love.

Even if there was more than once during this spate of childish taunting that he’d been tempted to fuck off to Macau and see if Mikhail was interested in a blond boyfriend to help talk Feilong into a threesome.

Akihito hadn’t gone through everything in his old life just to lose part of what he wanted in his new one because a crimelord was trying to pull his pigtails – however infuriatingly.

Suoh led the way out of the back entrance – because of course he did – and over to a limo Akihito was more than familiar with, opening the back door of the stretch vehicle for Akihito to climb in and then closing the door with an awful _click_ of finality before rounding the car and taking up his place behind the steering wheel.

Or so Akihito assumed.

With the privacy screen up and the time it took before the limo started moving it was a decent guess he thought.

And it gave him something to think about other than the smoldering _rage_ in Asami’s eyes over the burning end of a lit Dunhill as the other man sat on the other end of the limo’s bench seat, putting him both not close enough for the preferences of everything inside Akihito yearning to reach out and touch him and not nearly far enough _away_ for his sense of self-preservation.

Asami in a rage was prone to two things: utter violence and utter unpredictability.

Not a good combination for a much-smaller – armed and somewhat trained aside – man to deal with in an enclosed space as the potential cause of said rage.

The silence sat between them as thick and tangible as the leather of Asami’s favorite flogger until Akihito pulled his foreknowledge of Asami and his moods around him like a shield and stiffened his spine with the reality that while Asami wasn’t going to be _happy_ with what he’s about to imply regarding the other man, it was a much lesser infraction – in Asami’s view – than what the other man is most likely imagining.

“Asami Ryuichi, notorious playboy without a hint of scandal or darker leanings tainting his public persona.”  Akihito rattled off as if he was reading from a gossip column, ignoring the arch of a dark brow on that too-handsome face he’d loved so well for so long.  “Spends a weekend without using protection with one of his latest dalliances.”  His tone – sue him – was a touch bitter.  But damn it…being one of a crowd _hurt_.

Say what he liked about their start last time, Asami had never made him _doubt_ his place in the crimelord’s life before.

If anything it had always been the other way around…karma could be _such_ a bitch.

As much as Akihito hated to consider it, he had to admit that sometimes it felt like he and Asami were just… _destined_ almost to hurt each other, no matter how viciously they would deny the other capable of having any impact on them at all.

“I looked it up you know.”  Akihito continued ruthlessly making his point.  “Despite your reputation unsafe sex practices or pregnancy scares or rumors of disease have never been attached to you.  But given that weekend…”  He shrugged.  “I need to be sure.”

And Asami…Ryuichi was stunned.

Utterly _floored_ as what the pretty boy very carefully _didn’t_ say rang through his head.

The pretty sub who’d taken everything Asami doled out and whimpered and cried-so-pretty and begged for more…somewhere along the way had stopped trusting him.

It was the only reason he could think of that would’ve kept Akihito from simply using the number in his phone – that he damn well knew the vixen had – to call and ask the question or shown up at Sion or his penthouse and confronted him in person.

Either he didn’t trust him to tell him the truth or he didn’t trust him with his safety, one only slightly more worrisome than the other.

He’d in turns wanted Akihito’s attention and wanted him out of his head.

Asami had never expected his antics to backfire on him so _spectacularly_ …though thankfully the privacy screen was up or else Kei would _never_ let him hear the end of it, having never approved of the revolving door that was Asami’s sexual conquests.

He needed to fix it.

His pride as a Dom _demanded_ he fix it even as his pride as _Asami_ , fixer and leader of the criminal underworld of Tokyo demanded he do no such thing since in order _to_ fix the problem he made for himself he would have to admit to something that had the potential to show a weakness to a creature that – he was relatively certain – was perfectly capable of exploiting it if he saw fit.

The challenge then became ensuring that Akihito _never_ saw fit…or at least was invested enough in Ryuichi – meaning far more than he currently was from what he could tell – that Akihito at least never used it _against_ him and his interests.

Since as sure as the sun would rise in the East, Akihito was entirely too clever to overlook the metaphorical bared-throat Ryuichi would have to reveal to fix a problem he could only lay at his own doorstep.

Ryuichi had built an empire on his ability to fix problems.

There was a sense of irony that one of the problems he liked _least_ to fix was that of his own making.

“Not since my first fuck at thirteen have I forgotten to use a condom.”  Asami finally admitted, stabbing out the burning ember of his temper alongside that of the glowing cherry of his Dunhill.  That it allowed him to break his stare away from those eyes that tormented him with what they looked like filled with tears from being held on the brink between pleasure and pain or glazed with passion was a side-benefit he absolutely took advantage of.  “Not once.  Until I had a pretty little vixen of a nosy photographer tied up in my bed and so tempting I lost my senses if only for a moment.  And once lost…”

The shrug was implied as Asami would never bother with such a wasted movement.

“No point in trying to put the genie back in the bottle, yeah.”  Akihito blew out a breath.  “That helps…I guess.  That it’s not your normal m.o., anyway.  You probably already know from my records,” he cast a knowing eye at the older man.  “But I was good to go after my last check-up and I hadn’t been with anyone since so you’re good as far as my history is concerned.”

Asami didn’t bother protesting that he _didn’t_ have access to Akihito’s records considering that he’d managed to monitor his residence and have him rather effectively stalked ever since they met.

With Akihito’s _family_ connections why waste the effort?

He knew as well as anyone most likely what someone with the proper position, menace, and application of funds and/or violence was capable of.

It certainly made things easier in some senses…and _so fucking difficult_ in others since Asami couldn’t simply snatch the pretty vixen up and hold him captive in his penthouse until the boy agreed to stay of his own accord with a shadow like the Yoshidas lingering in the background.

“Then we understand each other.”  Asami ground out, lighting a new Dunhill as his temper had merely been banked not extinguished, the smoke helping anchor him when all he wanted as to plunder that delicious little body within arm’s reach.  Not exactly a _wise_ move considering the topic under discussion.  “You’ve nothing to worry about on that score.”

“I would say the same.”  Akihito rolled his eyes.  “But…”

“Amusements.”  Asami cut off whatever the brat was going to say.  “Nothing more.  Certainly not engaging enough to forget myself with.”

“Oh?”  Even Akihito could admit his tone was nothing short of snide.  “Not tight or virginal enough for the great Asami?”

“I wouldn’t know.”  Asami shot back, cool as a cucumber and a dash of good-humor restored at – _fucking finally_ – what amounted to a show of jealousy out of the little vixen.  “Since at a certain point one mouth is the same as another when skill and a passing level of attractiveness is all that is required.”

“Couldn’t get me out of your head?”  Akihito couldn’t help but poke at the dragon prowling behind the banked fires of Asami’s golden eyes.  He wasn’t _happy_ to learn that Asami had been getting his cock sucked by the parade of blonds trailing after him in the society pages like a lot of lost ducklings but given that the alternative was him _fucking them_ , he’d take it.

That Asami might’ve been seen with them only to be photographed didn’t even occur to him.

He knew Asami too well to believe _that_ load of gobshite.

Thankfully, Asami was aware enough of being on thin ice with Akihito’s trust – the only reason he could think of for the sudden admission from the other man – not to test him with trying to snow him regarding his recent public _play_.

Rather than answer, Asami simply hit a button on the limo’s console, the vehicle slowing a moment later, Suoh appearing at the door to let Akihito out before his new building’s entryway.

Typical.

Fucking typical Asami.

Give an inch to avoid a mile.

“My results won’t be back for several days.”  Akihito informed the other man – needlessly, he was sure, but he did it anyway.  “I’m sure you’ll know them before I do.”

“Perhaps.”  A not-quite-smirk tugged at the corner of Asami’s perfect mouth.  “Until then, Akihito.”

Akihito snorted, waving him off.

Whatever.

Before that, he had a date to pickpocket a thief and information to acquire.

One way or another, he wanted to know what was so _damn_ important that Feilong and Asami had both been willing to kill over it.

…

Two days and a bit of slight of hand later, Akihito was strolling down a busy Tokyo street with an external hard drive nice and warm and cozy in his jacket pocket and a clumsy thief none the wiser as he ran from a pair of clumsy – and incompetent – Chinese gang members.


	10. Chapter 10

** Retrospect **

**Chapter Ten: Irreplaceable**

Akihito flipped the external hard drive over in his hands, tossing it up without care for the – literal multi-million-dollar – value of the information it contained.

He’d taken a closer look at the contents of it this time, with eyes trained by years around Asami and listening and watching as he ran his organization, giving him an improved awareness of just _what_ Feilong had lost with the information stolen by a traitor in the Baishe and smuggled out of Hong Kong – and though the fixer hadn’t initiated it Asami certainly hadn’t shied away from trying to capitalize on it either.

Last time, he’d erased the damn thing and set an entire hurricane of horrible events, situations, and confrontations into motion both involving himself personally _and_ those close to him.

Now that he knew the contents of the hard drive and the value along with it, it gave him a warm-fuzzy sense of _fuck you_ towards both Asami and Feilong considering how they’d each treated him at the time both despite and because of his horrible memories of this series of events last-time around – some more vividly awful and traumatizing than others.

And considering how Asami was _currently_ behaving regarding Akihito, any loyalty he felt towards the older man wasn’t insisting on him turning the hard-drive and its gold-mine of information regarding internal Baishe endeavors and operations to what amounted to a current weekender that had yet to evolve into anything _real_ – more due to Asami’s being a stubborn fucking _fool_ than anything else.

The ball was in his court, Akihito wasn’t going to make any further moves to entice the older man until he got _something_ back from him other than a constant parade of flings in the papers.

Honestly, at this rate he was surprised there were still blond models _left_ in Japan that Asami hadn’t fucked trying to forget about Akihito – or otherwise make him feel utterly replaceable as the one-night-stands were being plastered all over magazine covers, gossip rags, and the social section of the newspapers.

Akihito would have to live in a total media vacuum to be unaware that he currently was just one in a line of pretty blonds Asami was fucking his way through…though after their _talk_ a few days before the papers had gone suddenly silent regarding who Asami was seen squiring around town.

Whether Asami had cut it out with the models and twinks or had simply cracked down on the media frenzy Akihito couldn’t be certain, though he was reasonably sure if he asked the crimelord would tell him.

That wasn’t really the _point_ at this juncture with how long Asami had carried on with the parade of blonds, neither was the did-they/didn’t-they of if Asami had told the truth regarding _just_ getting blow jobs from them or if he’d lied to his face and fucked them all a dozen times over.

Because Asami had forgotten something or maybe simply hadn’t realized it yet in the first place:

Akihito was _more_ than another random fuck.

More than someone to toy with by trying to put him in the same column – however futilely – with Asami’s temporary bedwarmers.

He was more than Asami’s power-plays – which this current behavior very much was – more than something to fuck out of his system.

And he wouldn’t let Asami treat him as less than he actually was the way he once might have done.

Bringing up the condom – or lack thereof – issue had been the first real point he’d scored against Asami this time around.  The first time he’d forced the other man to step outside of his comfort zone.  To meet Akihito on an even playing field.

He’d had to be underhanded about it, but in the end he’d gotten what amounted to a concession – more than one actually – out of Asami that _Akihito_ was more than the others Asami played his games with.

Oh, Akihito knew Asami was going to retaliate eventually.

He had to.

There was no way his pride would allow being cornered the way Akihito had managed to pass by without being answered.

Honestly, he half-expected to wake up tied to Asami’s bed again shortly after his test results from the clinic come back clear, though he wouldn’t count on it entirely to the detriment of other options and plans from his most dominant lover – past, present, or future – since Asami had proven over and over again that he was capable of surprising him and defying all expectations.

Hell, with the way Asami tended to prepare for things how he found out his test results were clear would likely _be_ waking up tied to the crimelord’s bed since he was likely to know before Akihito with the way he ran Tokyo from the shadows.

Sighing, Akihito sat up with the hard drive in hand, studying it for a long moment.

He already knew what he was going to do with it.

He’d known all along.

Going over and over in his mind how Asami has been since he woke up after a gunshot wound to the chest, what was different what was the same…none of it was going to change his mind or alleviate his mixed feelings about the decision he’d made.

He just had to do it.

And live with the consequences as the cards fell where they may, whatever outcome came in the end.

Though…

He thought he _was_ allowed to wish that Asami had gotten his head out of his ass enough for them to have had more than a weekend together before this choice came around.  Gotten out of his own away.  Or that Akihito had been willing to _give_ just a bit more and not kept so firmly to the boundaries he was trying to set with his lover.

Anything.

Because for all that he’s changed along the way here, _this_ , this change…it might be the one that broke them.

All he could hope was that in the end it wasn’t irreparable or unforgiveable.

Though he supposed that would come down to a couple things in particular: how good of a liar he was when it came to convincing Asami he had no _idea_ that the information he “returned” to Feilong was supposed to end up in Asami’s hands, and how Feilong reacts when faced with a total stranger with _way_ too much personal information on the leader of the Baishe.

…

“Asami-sama,” Kirishima stepped into the office, attention rapt on the phone in his hand.  “Ito never made it to the drop site.  He was followed by members of the Baishe and shot before being taken by emergency responders to the nearest hospital.”

Asami sat back against the plush back of his leather executive chair, setting aside his pen with a soft _click_.

“And the hard drive?”

“Unclear.”  Kirishima reported, lowering the phone as no more information from their men who’d been sent to make the meet with Ito-san and complete the trade only to end up following the man to the hospital instead in an attempt to anticipate their boss’s orders while waiting to hear from Kirishima.  “Ito-san no longer possessed the hard drive, however there were several known thugs with links to the Baishe lingering around the hospital before news came that Ito-san didn’t survive his emergency surgery.”

“A puzzle.”  Asami mused, considering options available to him.  The information said to be contained on the hard drive was… _tempting_ to say the least.  If only to possess knowledge that Liu Feilong would kill a great many people to keep secret if it was everything Asami’s informant whispered it was.  If he could guarantee that Feilong would _actually_ review the information personally he’d be tempted to allow it to slip through his fingers back to the Baishe leader…if it was what it was said to be and contained what in that case he thought it might.

Feilong acquiring such knowledge wouldn’t be a good thing for several of the upper-level members of the Baishe but quite excellent for lessening tensions between Asami and Hong Kong.

Still: there was no such guarantee and once the information passed into Asami’s hands, even if it was the genuine article Feilong would never believe it, preferring to believe it tainted or manipulated by Asami than the alternative.

“Backtrack Ito’s path.”  Asami ordered, picking his pen back up to get back to work on the innumerable pieces of tedious paperwork Kei insisted on torturing him with each and every day.  If only he’d known when he was younger how much _paperwork_ was involved in running a criminal empire he might’ve chosen a different path instead.

Though the likelihood of finding another that allowed him to vent his… _darkest_ urges without undue harm to his career or those around him would’ve been a difficult feat to manage.

“I’ve already set analysts to recreating his route, Asami-sama.”  Kirishima informed him with a crisp nod.  “I will work personally on retrieving the necessary CCTV and other available records to see what can be found regarding the missing package.”

“Excellent.  That will be all, Kirishima.”

“Yes, Asami-sama.”

…

It seemed whenever Akihito first caught sight of the extraordinary beauty of one Liu Feilong he would lose his breath and find himself stunned speechless in awe for a moment.

Perhaps it was just _this_ version of Feilong: before he’d admitted the insidious damage of his foster-family, before he’d admitted that he’d wasted seven years of his life in prison for _nothing_ , when he was still filled with verve and life and not drowning under the bitterness of wasted years.

He… _glowed_.

Asami and Feilong alike once-upon-a-time would talk about Akihito’s skin that shone with his lightness of spirit but in his opinion compared to the sheer ethereal beauty of Feilong he was nothing at all.

It was like comparing the golden glow of a perfect sunlit day versus the pale silver light of waning moonlight.

Both were beautiful in their own way – his lovers over the years had pounded that Akihito _was_ pretty, sexy, attractive into his head – but one was vastly more luminous than the other.

Watching from the opposite rooftop as Feilong stood in the moonlight over Tokyo, draped in his preferred expensive silk Cheongsam clothing in icy white with pale pink cherry blossoms scattered across it and his hair left to blow in the breeze nearly to his knees, Akihito almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing so distracting was the lithe beauty in the fawning light of the full moon.

Getting distracted by Feilong in his opinion at least was an understandable deviation from plan.

He’d challenge anyone who was at least a _little_ attracted to men to see Feilong standing there in the light of the moon with his hair flowing around him and his skin porcelain white with silk draping him to be unmoved by him.

What Akihito – and anyone else not wanting to die a quick and merciless death – had to remember was that effortless beauty was a most insidious trap sculpted by the former leader of Baishe, one of the most dangerous men to ever lead that sector of the criminal underworld, designed to hide the lethal precision of an assassin trained from childhood behind the guise of a pretty, decorative bauble.

Which, granted, Feilong could do an impressive facsimile of given the right motivation.

But under all the silk and soft smiles and flashing eyes was a brain so sharp and cunning it ran circles around Asami Ryuichi on more than one occasion and survived _seven years_ as a beautiful man in one of the worst prisons on the planet only to return from assassination attempts, depression, and self-loathing to build the Baishe back up from the dregs it had fallen into in the absence of a clear leader and heir of the late Liu Clan head.

Feilong was just as deadly as Asami could ever be – but with different motivations and drives, making them very different men, leaders, and lovers.

With the room locked in his mind – notably _not_ the same one Feilong had taken him to once-upon-a-time to, er, _coerce_ whatever information Akihito possessed from him – he turned and ran across the rooftops until he was far enough away to call the car service his _family_ kept on retainer for the use of himself or any member of the main line who had business in Tokyo.

It wouldn’t do to roll up to one of the nicest hotels in Tokyo not owned by Asami on a Vespa or a taxi after all and Akihito _did_ have a reservation.

He just wasn’t planning on _staying_ in his room with its balcony suite.

Feilong’s security was as excellent as expected from a crimelord outside of their own territory, especially one trying to operate covertly before Asami became aware of his physical presence in Asami’s city without following the proper protocols for such a thing.

But then Feilong – even before openly declaring hostilities – always had preferred to work from the shadows whenever viable.

For a man so attention-grabbing he didn’t actually appreciate attention unless he was working an angle.

Feilong’s men, however, were looking for Asami or his men not a pretty boy in expensive designer clothes wearing a watch only Feilong or his top men could afford, who checked in with a lot of giggling and tipsiness to the suite one floor below and one suite over from their boss: a distance an experienced free-runner and escape artist like Akihito was more than capable of managing after Feilong dismissed his men out to the hallway later that night.

Of course, the whole point of getting into Feilong’s suite was to avoid the guards – including Yoh who was still working for Feilong and reporting to Asami, being still _quite_ divided in his loyalties between Asami and Feilong – as he knew he didn’t have a chance in _hell_ sneaking passed Feilong himself.

That Feilong allowed him to get inside the balcony doors Akihito put up to the other man’s curiosity more than anything though he wasn’t surprised to have elegant hands with all the solid strength of titanium hiding under silken skin and manicured nails wrapping around his neck and wrist from behind, spinning and pinning him to a fainting couch beside the balcony doors upholstered in rich wine red, Feilong straddling him and using the whole of his long lean body weight to keep him under the Baishe leader’s control.

“I admit.”

And yes, Feilong’s voice was still as much silk-wrapped seduction hiding an acid-edged blade as the rest of him.

“When I thought Asami might be _cowardly_ enough to end an assassin after me,” Feilong purred as he leaned over the morsel stretched out underneath him, his hair falling forward and veiling them in makeshift privacy.  “I didn’t expect it to come in such a pretty package.”

“Considering you’re one of the deadliest people on the planet wrapped in the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.”  Akihito drawled, smirking to some surprise on the part of the Baishe leader at his utter lack of fear.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.  Though you’re wrong on two counts otherwise.”

What did he have to be afraid of?

Dying?

He knew that Feilong was too smart for that, too eager for a bargaining chip to risk killing Akihito before he knew the fullness of his purpose in breaking into his hotel suite.

And anything short of that, really, Akihito’s probably experienced before in one form or another.

No small amount of it at the hands of his own lover.

That his increased fearlessness – which wasn’t exactly lacking in the first place – had turned him into the next thing to crimelord catnip was a bonus but not the driving force behind the attitude.

No, that one was pure stubborn Akihito.

Good thing powerful men tended to like things they had to work for or those who didn’t fear them as the latter was in short supply with Akihito and the former was his current method of payback for his less-than-stellar treatment at his would-be lovers’ hands last go-around.

“Oh?”  An elegant brow winged up, amusement written all over that face which was far too beautiful to ever be called merely _handsome_.  Feilong never _had_ bothered with the stoic mask Asami favored for all that he seemed ice-cold most of the time.

Akihito simply _stretched_ under that lithe body that pinned him so effectively, seeming more the intoxicating odalisque in that moment, sent perhaps for Feilong’s entertainment, than an assassin.

He smirked, nodding as the Chinese crimelord’s black eyes seemed to catch with inner fire at the taunting – and teasing – movement of the body underneath him.

“I’m not an assassin for one.”  He whispered as if imparting a secret, then in a move he knew would _never_ work twice on Feilong and only worked this time because it was utterly unexpected he locked his ankles around Feilong’s legs and thrust upward with all his lean, hidden strength and flipped them onto the floor, managing to reverse their positions only for a moment before Feilong retook and pinned Akihito face-down on the plush carpet, surprised that the smaller – and younger – man had gotten the better of him if only for a moment.  “And I most _certainly_ don’t work for Asami Ryuichi.”

“Really?”  Feilong’s amusement was as ripe in his voice as it had been on his face.  He liked being surprised and this little thing had been just _full_ of surprises from the moment he managed to breech his people’s security – the method of which Feilong would most certainly discover before he decided what to do with his pretty little invader.  “Then what brings a pretty little thing like you to invading my rooms?”  He leaned down and dragged his nose along a downy cheek, his breath hot against silky skin.  “If not doing Asami’s bidding?”

“Oh, I imagine there’s all _sorts_ of reasons a body might have for invading the private rooms of Liu Feilong.”  Akihito chuckled breathlessly, Feilong doing a better job of pinning him and keeping him short of breath now that he wasn’t completely underestimating him.  “Mine is simple enough: I found something that belongs to you and thought you might like it back.  If not,” he turned his head towards the ever-watchful black gaze of his captor.  “I _know_ someone else might like to get their hands on it.  Given your assumptions, perhaps Asami might be interested in it?”

Feilong’s firm grip turned bruising on his little trespasser’s wrists as he bore down more of his weight onto the boy’s back, forcing the little thing to gasp a moment in search of air before he lifted up a fraction, shifting his weight and allowing the boy to breathe easier – for the moment – in wordless threat and reminder that at the moment his life was very much in Feilong’s hands.

“You have the disk?”  Feilong mused, nuzzling the blond mane of hair on his pretty trespasser almost against his will.  Such an enterprising little thing.  Perhaps he might let him live in the end, though he wasn’t ruling the boy’s death out – yet.  Though it _would_ be a waste.  Killing the pretty ones always was but for all their many disagreements in one area Asami and Feilong agreed – though likely for different reasons – human trafficking was more trouble than it was worth, no matter how lucrative a business it was touted to be.  “How?”

“I was in the right place at the right time with light hands.”  Akihito twitched his shoulder – as much as he could with Feilong’s vise-like grip holding his wrists immobile over his head – in an almost-shrug.  “The guy was… _twitchy_ and kept patting his pocket.  Figured whatever he had might be worth something so I lifted it and reviewed the information.”

He flicked his eyes over Feilong’s cold expression, spotting the intrigue and ongoing amusement – and yes, lust – hiding just beneath the surface of the calculation.

“Then I _knew_ it was worth something, but I’d rather return it to the head of the Baishe than gamble a payday I don’t really need versus my life.”

“Smart little thing aren’t you.”  Feilong murmured in a near-hiss.  A statement rather than a question before releasing his arms – for the moment – and lifting up enough onto his knees to allow the body beneath him to lift and flip over, facing him once more but still in an extremely vulnerable, and submissive, position as the wordless cue of a tap to the pretty thing’s hip with one elegant hand.

“I know how to do my research.”  Akihito countered, more comfortable with the – at the moment – calm form of a vastly dangerous man crouched over him than would seem either reasonable or sane to an outsider who didn’t know what made Feilong _tick_ the way he did.  “When I saw what was on that disk…”  Akihito shook his head.  “Anything other than returning it to you would be like playing Russian roulette with five bullets in the chamber: nothing short of tempting fate.”  Even he could tell without seeing his face that his grin was rueful.  “And I rather like living, thanks.”

Elegant hands trailed over his body as he spoke, sending shivers down his spine and bumping him from a soft, general arousal into full-on iron-hardness by the time those clever fingers hit his beltline, Feilong taking his sweet time to search his trouser pockets before finding the slim external hard-drive tucked next to a knife sheathed in the top of his right boot.

“Hmm.”  Feilong pressed down with his hips, grinding mercilessly against the young cock trapped between his ass and the boy’s thighs, an amused grin on his face as he turned the hard-drive over in his hands.  This wasn’t what had been reported stolen.  Which meant…  “And the original?”

“Obsolete tech.”  Akihito held in a groan as his hands came up to cup strong thighs clad in silk as Feilong tormented him – though given the man’s abilities and track record it was a mild, pleasurable torment indeed – bracing his feet flat on the floor.  “I transferred everything recoverable onto that,” he flicked his eyes towards the hard-drive before letting his eyelids fall closed.  “And destroyed the disk.  It’s ashes in Tokyo Bay.”

Feilong’s nose wrinkled in disapproval over that, grinding down _hard_ in punishment and pulling a groan that was half pain and half pleasure out of his pretty little thief in the process.  He hid an interested – and lascivious – smirk at the sound.  Oh.  Now _that_ was simply a stunning sound to pull from such pretty lips.

Silly boy.

He might as well have waved a red-flag in front of a bull.

“What else do you know about this?”  He tapped the hard-drive lightly against one charmingly-blushing cheek.  “Pretty one.”

“You’d kill for it.”  Hazel eyes popped back open, meeting deepest black head-on and fearless.  “Others would pay millions for it to undermine your organization or maneuver you as much as possible.  A record kept by a now-dead police officer and detective in Hong Kong who was on the Baishe payroll that he used to blackmail – at a guess – several of your high-ranking members.  Including security camera footage of someone I can’t identify killing an unarmed man in a wheelchair that was noted as evidence withheld from your criminal trial for the murders of your foster-family at the behest of one of your current lieutenants who attempted to lead the Baishe in your… _absence_.”

Feilong _froze_ at that, rage building in his veins as the meaning of the pretty thief’s words ripped through his mind and memories like a chainsaw.

“Someone you can’t identify, you say?”  He asked with deceptive calm, not revealing his inner fury by word or deed, if anything his body becoming even more languid as he all-but- _melted_ onto the prone body under him, lips whispering and not-quite-touching red-tinged cheeks and lips, his fisted hands – the hard-drive resting on the floor safely between them – out of sigh over the boy’s blond head.  “Are you _certain_ of that?”

Akihito nodded carefully, eyes cautious and rapt on Feilong’s too-still face.

The other man was never more dangerous than when he seemed completely calm and harmless.

He knew Feilong needed to know, especially if he had any hope at all of making his plans work out for snagging all three of his crimelords, but that didn’t mean he was at ease being at the seductive viper’s literal mercy at the time.

If anything…he’d much rather be on the opposite end of the damn _world_ at the moment than with Feilong crouched and pressing into him like an amorous jaguar waiting to pounce and tear his head off.

Especially considering that the beautiful and mercurial leader of the Baishe was just as deadly and twice as vicious as the infamous jungle cats.

“You’re _absolutely certain_ ,” Feilong pressed, nose-to-nose with the pretty thief.  “That it’s not Asami Ryuichi shooting a man in a wheelchair?”

“Considering I spent a weekend not that long ago mostly naked and at his mercy,” Akihito told him drily.  “I know what Asami looks like.  The guy who shot your foster father _wasn’t_ Asami Ryuichi, I don’t recognize him, and the notes only said who paid to suppress the video.”

“Did you?”  Feilong purred.  “And still you returned my property?”  He clucked his tongue in a chiding sound, loosing his restraint a moment to give that finely-etched jawline a scolding nip.  “What a naughty thing you are…”

Akihito snorted softly, daring to bend his knees further and bracketing Feilong’s hips between his raised thighs as the silk-clad assassin reclined over him.

“Asami doesn’t own me.”  He retorted, arching a brow.  “As I’ve taken pains to make clear to him, and a weekend fling doesn’t buy loyalty when you’re just one in a parade of one-nighters, flings, and disposable fucks.  If it were one of my family’s people who’d been transporting your property for sale or was supposed to receive it that would be a different story.”

“Your family?”  Feilong teased one pearly earlobe between his white teeth.  “And who are they to have an interest in such matters?”

“The Yoshida Family.”  Akihito turned his head watching – yes, a bit smugly he’d admit – as Feilong froze for an entirely _different_ reason than his earlier rage that he’d quickly suppressed in favor of questioning Akihito.  “Which is how I was able to make sense of enough of the information contained on the disk to know who to return it too when I realized what it was I had acquired.”

Feilong’s muscles locked in shock and his eyes and face blanked as the words _Yoshida Family_ ran through his mind.

He didn’t have much business with Yokohama, as they tended to be among the more ethnocentric – or perhaps simply traditional – of the remaining old yakuza families that had managed to keep a hold on their territories in the rising new age of crime that didn’t hold to the same standards and code of the old ways in Japan.

But what he _did_ have was enough to give him pause – at least for a moment – then he was lowering one hand with the quickness of a striking cobra to snag an arm possessing a watch, unclasping it with dexterous fingers and flipping it over, knowing the ways of the Yoshida enough for an easy method of confirmation of the pretty boy’s words.

And there is was, written in simple calligraphy, even though it gave no confirmation of _status_ what it _did_ give was that of a name.

It read: Yoshida Akihito, making the pretty trespasser underneath him a close enough member to have use of their name and more important to that family than a simple runner or underling.

It also gave him a measure of the pretty _Akihito’s_ taste as the Montblanc was the sort of simple elegance he would wear himself but rather more modern than most yakuza would boast.

Stuffy traditionalists that they tended to be if they were _real_ yakuza rather than petty street-thug pretenders.

Feilong leaned back, half showing off himself and half a wordless lessening of the implicit threat the pretty thief had been under since he’d flipped his body over Feilong’s balcony railing with an easy athleticism that had impressed him despite the trespassing that accompanied it, handing back the watch after he picked the hard-drive back up and yet still keeping the pretty pinned under him.

“So…”  He mused, tilted his head to the side his hair falling over his shoulder to pool beside his hip.  “You have ties to Asami and the Yoshidas, pretty Akihito, and yet you sneak into my suite to return my property rather than giving it over to either of the Heads you know.”  He tapped the thumb of his empty hand against his lips as he secreted the hard-drive away inside his clothes.

Even knowing Feilong as well as he did Akihito was hard-pressed to know where it went despite knowing that the assassin had hidden pockets and sheathes sewn into all of his clothes – including his nightwear.

“Why?”

Akihito weighed the odds a moment then decided to take a gamble that while risky – especially with Feilong still sitting on him – carried the greatest reward working towards his ultimate goal.

“Because I know that if you actually _look_ at what’s on that,” he waved in the general direction of Feilong as he put his watch back on.  “I have a better chance of getting what I _want_ than doing anything else with it.”

“And what is it you want, pretty Akihito, hmm?”

Though considering that most of the time he’d been on top of the pretty trespasser his cock had been rock-hard and throbbing against Feilong’s ass he had a decent idea of at least _some_ of what the Yoshida boy wanted.

“The same thing you do, Feilong,” Akihito smirked knowingly.  “Asami Ryuichi.”

Feilong scowled, hissing as he rose off the pretty one, no longer entertained and pacing over to the side-table where his pipe rested along with his favored mixture of hashish and clove, lighting up with practiced movements and staring at the boy who slowly climbed to his feet and watched him warily out of far-too-knowing hazel eyes through the softening haze of smoke.

“The only thing I want from Asami Ryuichi is his dead body at my feet.”  He hissed.

Akihito held in an eyeroll and a snort.  Call him crazy but he didn’t think even Feilong believed what was coming out of his mouth.  How he expected it to work on Akihito he didn’t know.

“Sure you do.”  Akihito arched his brows, prowling closer to the lean form of the Chinese man who’d gone from seductive boneless sprawl to being pulled as taunt as a tightrope in a split-second.  And was far more likely to snap for it.  “If he was here,” he pressed moving up to stand almost toe-to-toe with the leader of the Baishe.  “Standing in front of you with no gun, no bodyguard, just himself maybe cuffed and kneeling at your feet, what would you do?”  He asked, tone knowing with a hint of taunting.  “Put a bullet in his head?”  He gave into the desire to snort as Feilong’s eyes narrowed warningly on his face.  “I rather doubt it.  Kiss him, maybe.”  A smirk flitted across his face for a split-second before disappearing and leaving only a dead-serious expression behind rather than the languorous ease or teasing Feilong had seen from him thus far.  “You’re far too invested in Asami to kill him, you have been ever since you met him.”

“How do you know this?”  Feilong hissed, snapping out his free hand and grabbing the pretty thing’s collar, hauling him close once more though in a vastly different position than they’d been in earlier on the suite’s living room floor.  “Asami?”

“Like I said,” Akihito snapped out his own hand and plucked the pipe from Feilong’s loose grip, setting it aside with a resolute _click_ onto the side-table but making no move to free himself.  “I do my research.  If you know where to dig – and that hard-drive was a _gold-mine_ of information – it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, especially since Asami rarely leaves Japan but was strikingly _absent_ for a few weeks a decade ago with sightings in Hong Kong.”

“Who are you?”  Feilong demanded again, wanting more than a name – for all that had been informative in an abstract way – this time.

“An idiot who doesn’t know if he wants to kiss Asami Ryuichi or kick his ass into the next decade half the time.”  Akihito sighed sheepishly.  “Something I think we have in common.”  He rolled his eyes as Feilong pushed him away once more.  That was Feilong all over: I love you, I hate you, come here, go away.  Damn but his foster family fucked him up _good_ and Asami’s mind games a decade previous sure as shit didn’t help.  “Tell me it doesn’t appeal: Asami holding you down and kissing the very breath from you.  That handsome _bastard_ stripping you bare, spanking your ass, then fucking it mercilessly until all you can do is whimper and pant under him.”

Feilong started, eyes wide before looking away with a heady blush that was – he insisted if only to himself – at least half the intoxicant from his smoke.

The pretty thing certainly knew how to paint a picture with his words, he’d give him that.

“The _problem_ is the same thing that you – and I – want,” Akihito continued relentlessly.  “Asami.  Cold, controlled, devastatingly handsome, asshole of the highest caliber, controlling, king of the world, everything on his own terms, Asami.  But I’m not a thing to be owned, neither are you, and that’s the only way Asami would – if he had his way – let anyone inside his rather impressive emotional shields.”  He shook his head, heart aching for more than one reason.  “He’s more than enough in bed to satisfy a legion of playmates but is a total top Dom whose idea of a _relationship_ is having a handy partner to fuck whenever he feels like it.”

“You’re not exactly making a good case for,” Feilong frowned waving a hand airily.  “Whatever it is you’re after that you thought easing my temper with the hard-drive would manage.”

To be honest the crimelord had _no fucking clue_ where the pretty thing was going with this but was shaken enough from the other things he’d said – including those he should have _no fucking idea_ about – to listen.

Besides which…he needed to let his temper settled before stripping the pretty and fucking him senseless.

Otherwise he might do pretty Akihito real harm and Feilong was interested enough in keeping under the radar while he was in Tokyo _not_ to want to piss off a member of the Yoshida family, especially one who – by his own admission – was on semi-familiar terms with Asami even if it was only semi-familiar terms fashioned from being one of the handsome asshole’s many fucks.

“Asami Ryuichi is a vault: uncrackable and impenetrable…unless you know exactly where to chip away at.”  Akihito smirked.  “Then he becomes one of the most predictable men on the _planet_.”

“His possessiveness.”  Feilong murmured, blinking.  He thought he might – even with the softening edge of his smoke – have an idea of where the boy was going with his little speech.  “His desire for control.”

“Exactly,” Akihito flashed a wicked grin, lifting his arms and looping them around the back of Feilong’s neck, pressing close as the other man bracketed his hips in his strong, clever killer’s hands and pulled him in until they were plastered against each other, enjoying – as always, even when he didn’t want to admit it – the lean muscles hidden so effectively by draping silk and yards of ebony hair.  “So, Feilong.”  Akihito whispered over a perfectly sculpted mouth, hazel eyes locked on endless obsidian mere inches away, his mouth hovering just-not-touching over the other’s.  “Want to play a game?”

“Winner takes all?”  Feilong chuckled darkly, lifting one hand to fist and tug at the other man’s wild blond hair, teething nipping lightly at a plush lower lip that was all-but-begging for it.

Akihito moaned deep in his throat, baring his neck a moment at the pull of the other man’s hand, then retorted:

“If we play things right then,” he pressed a soft, slow kiss to the Feilong’s gorgeous mouth then pulled away, final words as much breath as they were voice.  “There won’t be a loser in this game.”

Feilong’s patience officially snapped at _that_ , and all it implied, pulling Akihito to him fiercely and stealing his breath in a deep, tongue-twining kiss that left no portion of that wickedly-whispering mouth untasted.

A handful of minutes later as the pair were busy getting tangled up in each other, hands fisting in hair or tugging at clothes, the door to the suite opened with a soft _click_ and the firm press of a broad hand, its partner clenched around the grip of a custom CZ 75 pistol over flashing – and _furious_ – golden eyes that took in newly-bared lean muscles dusted with pale blond hair and finest silk slipping off of broad shoulders.

“My my.”  Asami’s voice mocked, faking shock.  “What _do_ we have here?”


End file.
